


Century of the Starks

by Lilium_convallium



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 50 Years To Go, ASoIaF, But almost no plot, Drinking & Knowing Things, Eventual Explicit Sex (if I dare), Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/M, For a Start Some Fix-It of Show Finale, Future of Westeros, Implied Meera Reed/Bran Stark - Freeform, Masturbation, Minor Gilly/Samwell Tarly, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Tyrion Lannister/Tysha - Freeform, Post - Game of Thrones (TV), Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Sanrion Tropes, Sansa the Queen, Talking & Fucking, Tyrion the Hand, eventual established relationship, show!canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:02:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 95,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27741949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilium_convallium/pseuds/Lilium_convallium
Summary: It was a bit over half a year since Bran Stark became a king. Those moons somehow felt like one month and many years at the same time. Too much happened during that time. And Tyrion truly had his hands full.Rebuilding King’s Landing. Rebuilding six kingdoms. Creating new peaceful world after the most terrible War.So many houses extinct. So many castles ruined. Trade to be revived. Agriculture, crafts, roads and bridges, ships, taxes… all those issues kept Tyrion busy. They kept him tired, exhausted even. But it all also kept him from drinking into stupor and from drowning himself in guilt, grief and sorrow. King Bran never let him linger over the past. Otherwise Tyrion’s self-hatred and self-pity would probably consume him.The king told Tyrion that he would spend the rest of his life fixing his own mistakes. Working his arse off for the benefit of Westeros, building its future.What Tyrion didn't know was that most of this work awaited him in the Kingdom of the North.
Relationships: Tyrion Lannister/Sansa Stark
Comments: 415
Kudos: 140





	1. The Small Council

**Author's Note:**

> So, in general this is TVshow version. I will not discuss the ending of the 8 season here, although I do not find it good, and to be frank not so much in the area of plot as in the general visual outcome (dynamics of the scenes etc.). I decided to fix only some particular plot lines I found utterly irrational (like Bran's new small council). Major plot elements are intact, even if I personally hate them (e.g. Jaime's death). 
> 
> Also, in terms of timeline, I assumed that 6 years passed since season 1.  
> Sansa was 13 at the beginning of the show, and she was 14 when she married Tyrion; she fled King's Landing rather soon and I assume her journey with Littlefinger and stay in the Vale did not last longer than around another year and a half. So before she turned 16 she married Ramsay, and escaped Winterfell a few months later. I'd say that all the next events (taking over Winterfell - Danaerys’ arrival - the Long Night) took another year and a half, and then about 6 months or so until she became Queen in the North at the age of 18. In this calculation of mine, at the same time Aria is 16 (and just went West) and Bran became the king at the age of 15. 
> 
> So, there you go. At the beginning of this story, king Bran is ruling for about a year, Sansa is 19 and Tyrion is, in my mind, 33 (for some reason I like to believe that he was exactly twice her age when they first married, so she was 14 and he was 28). I am aware, that Peter Dinklage was actually 50, but I think that he looked much younger than that (especially with hair dyed blonde), and also Tyrion may look older than his own age because of all he's been through and because of his rather unhealthy lifestyle. Alcohol can really ruin your complexion. 
> 
> If that goes as I plan it, expect it to be a long story, stretched over half a century. And I am afraid there won’t be much plot, and if there is some, it would probably be rather awkward because I made up some silly situations only as a pretext to deal with certain relationship and personal issues of the characters, or to make them talk. 
> 
> I basically only want to make people talk. And to make them fuck happily ever after, eventually. In my little mind talking and fucking (and drinking. And reading. And writing or creating something in general.) is pretty much the definition of having a happy and fulfilled life.
> 
> And well, I may want to include most of canonic Sanrion fan-fic tropes, bear with me. They will gradually appear in the tags as well.
> 
> Any remarks on possible linguistic errors are much appreciated (no beta reader!). Let me know what needs to be corrected, thank you!

It was quite late in the evening when Lord Tyrion Lannister climbed up into his bed in the chambers of Hand of the King. He slipped under sheets, but before he lay down he poured himself a cup of wine. Just a night-cup to relax, to feel some warmth and to fall asleep easily. Not only did he sleep alone these days; lately he didn’t even drink as much as he used to. He worked too hard in the service of King Bran the Raven (Tyrion realised himself, not long after the election, that calling king “the Broken” did not work well in terms of publicity. Of course many royal nicknames were often given by smallfolk, but it was much better to try out “Raven” instead of any suggestion of failure). Tyrion was busy until late hours every day, and when he could finally retire, he usually passed out after two or three cups, sometimes even after one.

It was a bit over half a year since Bran Stark became a king. Those moons somehow felt like one month and many years at the same time. Too much happened during that time. And Tyrion truly had his hands full.

Rebuilding King’s Landing. Rebuilding six kingdoms. Creating new peaceful world after the most terrible War.

So many houses extinct. So many castles ruined. Trade to be revived. Agriculture, crafts, roads and bridges, ships, taxes… all those issues kept Tyrion busy. They kept him tired, exhausted even. But it all also kept him from drinking into stupor and from drowning himself in guilt, grief and sorrow. Sometimes Tyrion was actually angry at Bran, accusing the young king (not out loud, of course) of burdening him with too much work. But Tyrion was clever enough to understand that in fact Bran was making him a favour. By forcing him to work his arse off, king Bran never let him linger over the past. Otherwise Tyrion’s self-hatred and self-pity would probably consume him.

Of course, he mourned Jaime. He felt terribly guilty about Daenerys. He often worried about Jon. But all together, he simply had no energy and time to think of all that as much as he would like.

Again this time Tyrion only finished that one cup of wine and fell asleep almost immediately. It was already past midnight, after all. He would wake up before dawn, though. In spite of being notoriously tired, Tyrion did not sleep well at all.

—

Right after his coronation Bran had a long talk with Tyrion. “My Lord Hand,” the young king said, “we need to have a small council and we need it now.”

“Your grace,” Tyrion bowed, “Let me get some information, let me look around. I think I may have some candidates to present to you in a few weeks…”

“No, my lord,” Bran interrupted, “let’s have the council by the end of this week.”

“In… four days?” Tyrion barely believed his ears, “Your grace, it’s not… I need… why so soon?”

Bran looked at him thoughtfully and distractedly at the same time. It was irritating, really, how detached Bran was almost all the time. And somehow he made an impression of an old man in a boy’s body.

He calmly explained his reasons, as always: “One may think that the Three Eyed Raven does not need the small council at all. But that is not true. I do need the small council, and I need it now because I checked the past, and I know that tyrants used to dissolve small councils to rule by themselves. People of Westeros are exhausted by the War and they don’t actually understand why so many people sat on the Iron Throne during past years. Young king Joffrey was murdered, young king Tommen committed suicide, queen Cersei didn’t rule for long as well, and queen Daenerys perished immediately after invading and taking the throne with fire and blood. And now there is a crippled boy who may just be another mad ruler. I need to send the message that I am not a tyrant, and so I have to have a small council, among other things.”

“Very well, your grace,” Tyrion nodded, “but I doubt anyone expects you to create it in mere days. A few weeks would be reasonable time…”

“No, my lord,” Bran interrupted, “the trouble is, I need more than that. I expect my final small council to be established within a year. Meanwhile, I need a temporary one.”

Tyrion’s brow furrowed. “Would you like to fill me in your plans?”

“Well, my lord hand, we live at the dawn of a new age.” Bran explained calmly, “The dead have been defeated and a New Dawn after the Long Night should be more than relief that we’ve survived. It is time to change our world. And _that_ is actually why I came all this way, and why I accepted the crown while I would not accept lordship of Winterfell. I do not want to rule, and I am not exactly a human being anymore. But I am needed _here_ to guide Westeros into the new era. Changes must occur. The trouble is, most people don’t like changes.”

“Do you expect the Six Kingdoms to break into independent countries?” Tyrion asked, quietly. He was afraid of that ever since Sansa claimed North’s independence. He knew very well that this was exactly what Yara wanted for Iron Islands, and he expected Dorne to follow soon.

“Eventually, yes.” Bran confirmed, “But you mustn’t worry about that; I assume that should not occur within next 20 or 30 years. Current wardens, lords and ladies, are too weak after the War to demand independence. We all have to focus on rebuilding now, and surviving the Winter, and they all know that very well. Even Yara does.”

Tyrion nodded again and Bran continued, “Also, current generation has not been raised to rule independently. Many houses perished, many are now led by women or underage lordlings. The next generation should be different though… but that requires some changes, for example in access to education. I intend to reform Order of Maesters, but that must take time as well. I don’t want to have a rebel; Maesters are respected, and also conservative. Eventually I would like to see the Citadel open for any student, including married men and even women. For that I have to have a support of a Grand Maester here in King’s Landing. I want a young man on that post, a good Maester, but open-minded. I even have a candidate in mind: there is one completing his training right now. He should become a Maester within a year - then I plan to offer him the job. But meanwhile I need someone else, if only temporarily.”

Bran raised his voice slightly and called Sir Podrick Payne. Pod was just outside the door so he came in immediately. “Could you tell lord Samwell Tarly I’d like to see him?” Bran asked politely.

Soon Podrick brought Lord Sam into the chamber; the king invited young lord Tarly to sit down beside himself and Lord Hand. Tyrion smiled at Samwell - he really liked this shy but clever boy.

“Your grace.” Sam bowed, “you wanted to see me?”

“Yes, Lord Tarly, thank you. I hope you are well?”

“Wery well, your grace, thank you.”

“And how is Gilly?” Bran continued his small talk.

“Good, thank you,” Sam replied, “her pregnancy goes really smooth.”

Bran decided it’s time to get to the point.

“Tell me Lord Tarly, what do you want.”

“I beg your pardon?” Sam was obviously confused, “you called me here, Your Grace, why would you think I want anything?”

“I mean, in life.” Bran explained, “Your father and brother are dead. Do you want to take up your place as a head of House Tarly? Or would you prefer to resume your studies and become a maester?”

Sam looked distressed, as if he was trying to figure out what answer was expected of him. Bran reached for Sam’s hand. “I do not want to push you.” The young king said, surprisingly softly, “you are a hero of the Great War. If it weren’t for you, we would never defeat the dead, you were the one who discovered the impact of dragonglass on them. You fought bravely in Winterfell. And later you guided me to discover Jon’s parentage. If anyone deserves to live the life he really wants, it is you. So now please forget the duties and rules, and just tell me honestly: what do you want?”

Sam looked at his king in disbelief, and then smiled softly. He shook his head. “I don’t know, your grace, that is the problem. I do not wish to be Lord Tarly of the Horn Hill, I never could see myself in this role. I actually wanted to be a maester, but when I spent some time at the Citadel… well, let’s just say that the conservative environment of that place did not actually suit me. And now I have a family: Gilly, and little Sam, and soon another baby.”

“I see.” Bran said, “so if I understand correctly, you would like to live independently. Having wife and children, but also studying and focusing on further research without being obligated to follow rules of the Order of Masters.”

Sam chuckled. “Well, yes, that would be perfect. It doesn’t seem realistic, though.”

“And how realistic is it for a crippled boy to become a king?” Bran asked calmly. Sam just looked at him, surprised.

“What about my vows, my king?” Samwell asked quietly, “I shall never take a wife, nor father children.”

“The latter is done already.” Bran remarked, calmly, “as for taking a wife I dare say that in a way you did that too. You know, wildlings don’t have wedding ceremonies, they just decide to be together. In Gilly’s eyes you are very much her husband. Would you disrespect that?”

Samwel stirred in his chair, nervously. “No, I… I never want to leave her. I promised her that.”

“There you go. So this is what I propose, lord Tarly,” Bran resumed, “Your sister, Talla, will keep the Horn Hill. As a lady Tarly. You would stay here in King’s Landing, continuing your studies and working on rebuilding our library. I offer you a position of a temporary Grand Maester, which will enable you to support your family.” Both Sam and Tyrion raised their eyebrows in surprise.

“Qyburn replaced Pycelle although he was not actual Maester anymore,” Bran explained, “and as I said, this position would be temporary, probably for one year. It would enable you though to gain certain experience and I believe that later you’ll have various options. You may either stay here with your family, or go somewhere else - considering how clever and hard working you are, I am quite sure that you will be respected enough to get a job as a maester even having wife with children, and no actual chains.”

Sam face lighten up. “Thank you so much, your grace” He whispered.

After Samwell left, Bran turned towards Tyrion. “You see, my lord,” he said, “temporary small council could have many benefits. We can now appoint people who are not exactly entirely suited for the posts, but it would serve them well to take up those jobs, if only for a little while.”

Tyrion nodded thoughtfully. “I see your point, your grace. And now I can say I already have some ideas. Just give me a few days.”

—

Sansa, Arya and Jon left King’s Landing immediately after Bran’s coronation. Tyrion was surprised to learn that Ser Brienne did not leave with them.

She joined him, silently, when he stood by the stakes. Bodies of Lannister twins burned - after facing army of the dead and witnessing corpses rising in the crypts of Winterfell Tyrion could not think of any other way of burying the dead than turning them into ashes. But he took a liberty of burning them separately - after they turned into two piles of ashes, he had those ashes gathered into two separate urns. He was quite certain Jaime would not truly want to be buried _with_ Cersei - not after she hired Bronn to kill him.

Brienne did not say a word during entire ceremony. She did not cry and neither did Tyrion. He cried his eyes out earlier, alone, when he found their bodies. He had a feeling that she cried in private before, too. Now they both pretended they had their grief under control.

Grief. Sadness. Anger. 

And truly, it was _all_ about Jaime. None of them mourned Cersei, not really. Tyrion was somehow anxious about _that -_ he felt sorrow not because his sister was dead, but rather due to the fact that it did not make him sad at all. That was utterly pathetic. She was his blood, after all.

_I am dead inside_ , Tyrion thought. _My father, my sister, my nephew Joffrey: all gone, and I feel nothing_.

But then he remembered Myrcella, and Tommen, and even uncle Kevan…

A sharp pain in his chest. Maybe he wasn’t entirely dead inside, after all.

(He was careful not to think about Jaime at this moment. He really didn’t want to weep in public).

Afterwards, Brienne looked at Tyrion, carefully. She asked with strangled voice:”who would write about Ser Jaime in the White Book now?”

Tyrion shrugged “the next Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, I guess.”

“I see,” Brienne looked disappointed. “And do we know who that would be?”

Tyrion shook his head. “Not yet.”

—

Tyrion knocked the door, and when he heard “come in!”, he entered the chamber. Ser Brienne stood by the window, looking away, absent-mindedly rubbing her stomach.

“Good morning, Ser Brienne,”, he greeted and moved straight to the point, “would you like to fill the White Book pages for Jaime yourself?”

Brienne looked surprised. “I thought only the new Lord Commander could do that.” And then, cautiously, “Are you offering me the position of Lord Commander of the Kingsguard?”

“Perhaps…” Tyrion smirked. “Would you take it?”

Brienne furrowed her brow. “I am sworn to Lady… Queen Sansa, that is.”

“And yet you did not go North with her.” Tyrion pointed out.

Brienne blushed and looked down. “I… requested some time off. Queen Sansa was kind to give me permission to resume my service in a few moons, perhaps in a year. I wanted to stay here to… say goodbye to Jaime… and now I intend to visit my father in Tarth. But eventually I will go back North.”

“I see,” Tyrion said slowly, “but King Bran expects me to create a small council within days, even if a temporary one.” Brienne raised her brow, so he took it as an encouragement to continue, “Look, my lady, err, I mean: my ser… I have no idea whom to appoint on that post, and you have excellent military experience. I propose you join our council for one moon-turn: commanding the Kingsguard, you would get to know its members better and help me pick a good Lord Commander for future. Also, as a temporary Lord Commander you would be the one to fill in Jaime’s pages in the White Book.”

Brienne closed her eyes. After a few moments, she murmured “I want his record to… do him justice. In case… _someone_ … wanted to learn about him in future. Jaime Lannister was a man of honour and the greatest knight of our times.”

Tyrion swallowed lump in his throat. He did not think _that_ exactly about his beloved brother, and he was not sure he cared whoever in future would like to read anything about any of them. But apparently for some reason it was important for Brienne.

And so, she agreed to become a temporary Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

—

“Your grace”, Tyrion approached Bran, “May I talk to you about Highgarden? I am afraid I promised it to Bronn.”

Bran smirked in a way that was almost unnoticeable. “Highgarden is not yours to give, my lord. You are not the king.”

“I know that,” Tyrion felt frustrated. He never knew what part of past Bran had seen and what needed to be explained. “But, in case you didn’t know, I made that promise to save lives. Jaime’s life and my own, to be precise. And now I somehow have to make good on that promise, because…”

“…a Lannister always pays his debts, I know.” Young king stepped into Tyrion’s speech. “The trouble is, I do not think that Ser Bronn of Blackwater would be a good lord of the Reach.”

“And why not?” Tyrion asked, even though deep down he already knew the answer - and to make things worse, he agreed with it.

“Because he is a sellsword who won the title by a threat and blackmail. Lords of the Reach would perhaps respect him if he conquered the land, if he proved himself to be a charismatic leader and a brave commander. He is neither, I am afraid. And additionally, Highgadren is ruined - all the Tyrell’s gold was taken after your brother sacked the castle. It requires a wise and strong lord to raise the estate from ashes. Giving it to Bronn would probably cause a rebel in the Reach, and we really do not want that. I’d prefer to give the Highgarden to Ser Imry Florent.”

Tyrion sighed. Bran was right, of course, but that meant Tyrion would not pay his debt. He could not give up easily in such a case.

Also, one thing Bran said gave him an idea. Indeed, Highgarden was ruined, and ruined castle was not exactly what Bronn was after.

“Supposedly…” Tyrion tried, “Ser Bronn would be given Highgarden, so my debt is paid, and then he would resigned himself?”

“It is risky.” Bran noticed, “we can’t assume he would.”

“I know,” Tyrion nodded, “but then you are the king. You can always strip him of this title on any pretext, in fact. But why not give him a chance to fuck it up by himself?”

“Go on,“ Bran encouraged. Tyrion felt a wave of excitement he did not feel for too long now. He was allowed to play the game again. His mind did not work well when he was by Daenerys’ side: he was a refugee in a foreign land, working against his family, against himself, really, in a society very different from the one he knew in Westeros. To make things worse, everything he never believed in turned out to be real: dragons, white walkers, the Night King. He didn’t even realise when he lost his wits in all that havoc.

But now, somehow, everything gradually came back to him. He was in King’s Landing, again - surroundings he was accustomed to. Dragons were (mostly) dead, the Night King was gone. All that was left was familiar: politics, economy, various games among noble houses of Westeros. No slavers, no Sons of the Harpy, no priests of foreign gods. After all Tyrion has been through, he never would be the same clever but carefree man he used to be a few years before… but he felt just a little like himself again.

So, encouraged by Bran, he explained: “I would like to give Bronn Highgarden, and also the position of Master of Coins. Myce Tyrell held it in the past, so I would be able to force Bronn to take it. I know for a fact that he knows nothing about economy, although he is rather good at managing his own money. Perhaps his skills in cutting expenses would actually prove valuable for us right now. But sooner or later we would face situation when better developed economical skills are required.”

Bran nodded. “All right, Lord Hand, proceed.” He said. “I trust you keep an eye on all the decisions of our new Master of Coins.”

“Rest assure, Your Grace,” Tyrion confirmed, “I will not allow him to compromise the Realm’s treasury.”

Sir Bronn of Blackwater was very pleased when he heard he would get Highgarden, as promised. He was also flattered to get the position in the small council.

He was less pleased when he learned that his new estate was pretty much ruined after all the wars. He did not feel flattered at all when it occurred to him that Master of Coins should make deals with the representatives of the Iron Bank. Those sneaky bastards made him nauseated. He started to feel anxious, to loose his sleep. He did not like that shit at all.

When the Iron Bank fuckers gave him a draft of a loan agreement, he simply handed it over to Tyrion. He did not expect though that the Lord Hand would get angry enough to _yell_ at him.

“What the actual fuck!?” Tyrion shook the agreement in front of Bronn’s eyes, “that is the worst deal I ever saw! The loan on such terms would just ruin us! Are you managing the Reach in the same manner?”

Tyrion exaggerated, of course. He knew very well that Bronn had not yet made any financial decisions considering Highgarden. He was on his post for a fortnight so far, and Bran didn’t even acknowledge his lordship officially yet.

But Tyrion’s goal was to scare Bronn off, and it seemed to had been working. Master of Coin got anxious and therefore - aggressive. “ _Fuck_ this shit!” He yelled back at Tyrion, “Seven hells, I never signed up for any of that! I was supposed to be rich, a high lord of a big castle, and get myself a nice little wife, for fuck’s sake! Now look what shit you threw me into: no wife, no money, just a ruined castle and a damn job I didn’t ask for!”

Tyrion furrowed his brow, mainly to hide his contentment. It was going exactly as he planned. He was not going to continue this discussion - he wanted to leave Bronn with that anxiety. So he gathered all the papers and concluded with voice as cold as possible: “well, for now let’s hope that our king, the Three Eyed Raven, had momentarily focused his eyes elsewhere, so I could burn this draft and we may pretend you did not just almost push the Realm into ruin.” Satisfied with sudden paleness of Bronn’s face, Tyrion continued, “As for Highgarden, just wait until His Grace announces you officially as the new Lord Paramount of the Reach. Let me tell you this: your troubles with the banks are only about to begin.”

With that, Tyrion left, smirking to himself.

At the next council Tyrion brought up the case of the Twins: after the extinction of House Frey both castles needed a new lord, who should probably marry one of the surviving Frey girls. Interestingly, rumor said that the redhead twins, Serra and Sarra, grew up to be quite good looking young ladies, even though they were not particularly appealing as children. “In fact, the lucky lord may marry either of them, and keep both by his side and in his bed - who would know the difference?” Tyrion dared to joke in spite of Brienne’s angry glare. But when Bronn raised his eyebrow Tyrion knew that the Master of Coin took the bait. “Anyway,” the Lord Hand continued, “with independent North the Crossing became much more important, so king Bran decided to make Twins a seat of a new great house, not vassal to House Tully anymore. He already made a deal about it with his uncle, Lord Edmure. And the estate is in a very good financial condition, apparently.”

“So, whoever gets Twins…” Bronn interrupted, “ends up with two castles, possibly two girls to fuck, lots of money from managing the Crossing, and on top of that he gets to start his own Great House, right?”

“Yes, pretty much.” Tyrion confirmed, barely suppressing a smile.

“I want it.” Bronn said, as expected. Everyone but Tyrion gasped.

“What about Highgarden?” Ser Davos asked.

“Fuck Highgarden.” Ser Bronn replied.

“Well done, my lord.” Bran said to Tyrion later that day.

"Thank you, your grace" Lord Hand bowed, thinking: _and so I am back in the game_.


	2. The Hand of the King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for comments on the first chapter! Here goes the second...

After Tyrion burned his sibling’s bodies, the urns were of course sent to Castelry Rock. Tyrion did not go with them, though. His situation, as the last Lannister, was rather complicated.

That was also one of the issues Bran dealt with at the very beginning of his reign.

“My Lord Hand,” he addressed Tyrion in private meeting, “You are now the Lord of Caterly Rock.”

Tyrion shrugged. It was somehow painful. A couple years ago he wanted the Rock so much; he actually dared to hope that if he took Sansa there, in time their marriage may had grown into some kind of agreeable companionship. He wanted to be the Lord Lannister, respected and appreciated, not only a debauched Imp everyone mocked. But too much happened since then. When he made a decision to sack his ancestral home with Daenerys’ army, he burned the bridge. That is if there were any bridge for him after he killed his father.

“Your Grace, lords of Westerlands would never agree to be my bannermen.” Tyrion said, sadly.

“You are right, my lord,” Brann replied, indifferent as usual.

Tyrion suddenly felt tired. Nevertheless, he sighed and continued painful conversation: “So what do you propose, your grace? Am I to give my heritage to a stranger? We do not want to risk rebellion by forcing Westerland houses to bend the knee to the Imp. Unless that is your plan to get rid of me: let me claim the Rock and get killed there by my own vassals?”

“I do not wish to get rid of you, my lord,” Bran shook his head, “And I told you, you have a lifetime of work for the good of Westeros ahead of you. If I wanted to get rid of you, I would not need to send you as far as Casterly Rock.”

“Yes, thank you, good to know,” Tyrion muttered.

Bran casually continued: “But I also do not wish to see House Lannister disinherited. In general, I believe in next generations, but that has to wait in this case. For now I would say you should be announced as the Lord of Casterly Rock, but only in name. Do not go there, name a warden. I’d suggest Addam Marbrand.”

 _Yes, Ser Addam, Jaime’s friend. Widely respected, clever man, loyal to Lannisters. He knew Casterly Rock pretty well. Others would gladly follow him_. Tyrion nodded. He didn’t entirely agree with Bran about this plan: it would work if there were “the next generation”: if the warden were appointed to manage the Rock until the heir came of age. But there was no heir. And Tyrion did not believe that he could ever reclaim his ancestral home, not really. Not even in 20 or 30 years. Although he probably would not live that long anyway.

And when he dies, the Great House of Lannister goes extinct anyway.

On the other hand, he had strange sense of tiredness that urged him to avoid thinking too hard on that particular subject. Tyrion felt like there was too much to deal with, lately. He would gladly postpone the problem of Casterly Rock.

“Addam Marbrand it is, your grace.” He said and got up from his chair, bowing, assuming that their talk was over.

But Bran had different plans.

“Sit down, my lord, we’re not finished yet.”

Tyrion obediently sat back, surprised. He narrowed his eyes on young king. In general Bran was extremely calm and even indifferent, but Tyrion already learned that little twitches revealed that the Three Eyed Raven was not entirely emotionless. Sometimes he furrowed his brow, sometimes he twisted corner of his lips. Sometimes he clenched his fist, just like now. So he was nervous.

Tyrion soothingly patted the boy’s fist, looking him in the eye, warmly. A hint of smile occurred on Bran’s lips, and the king nodded, grateful. Relaxed. Then he got a scroll out of inner pocket of his dublet and handed it over to Tyrion.

“That is a draft of a sentence I decided to announce. I am sorry, my lord, but it is necessary to clear your name. Let me know what you think. Do you accept it?”

Tyrion took the scroll, surprised. He opened it and started reading the content.

The first part read that by a royal decree king Bran Stark announced that in spite of having been found guilty, lord Tyrion Lannister was in fact innocent of the murder of king Joffrey Baratheon. True murderers were lady Olenna Tyrell, who confessed her crime to Ser Jaime Lannister before she died, and lord Petyr Baelish, who revealed his role in this assassination to lady Sansa Stark, current Queen in the North. As both Lady Tyrell and Lord Baelish were dead, the case should had been considered closed and Lord Tyrion Lannister’s name cleared of the charge.

The second part, though, was not as pleasant. The king acknowledged that lord Tyrion Lannister was guilty of killing his own father. However, the crime was described as committed under extraordinary circumstances: in distress, facing undeserved death sentence issued by the said father. Considering all aspects, this crime should be classified as crime of passion, or even self-defence.

King Bran the Broken expressed his judgement: in his opinion Lord Tyrion should be pardoned for the crime of patricide. Nevertheless, _to meet expectations of the Lords of Westerlands, loyal to the late Lord Tywin Lannister, and to give them justice that would enable them forgo the grudge they hold against Lord Tyrion Lannister, king Bran Stark therefore sentences aforementioned lord to exile from Westeros for one and a half year, as well as to one moon of imprisonment, Punishment should be acknowledged as applied immediately after the crime was committed._

Tyrion’s heart raced as he finished reading the scroll. His hands started to shake, a lump formed in his throat.

Finally, after swallowing dry, he whispered: “So am I to be imprisoned and then exiled or the other way round?”

Now it was Bran who patted Tyrion’s fist, clenched around the piece of parchment.

“Look at the last sentence, my lord,” he said, softly, “punishment was mostly applied already, immediately after you committed your crime. You had to run away from Westeros and you’ve spent eighteen months in Essos - I recognise it as the exile. I also believe that your imprisonment after Daenerys’ death was rather unjust: she had you arrested for freeing your brother, but technically she was never _crowned_ as a queen, so her sentence should not be valid, especially after her death, and after all, freeing your brother was no crime against the Realm. In fact I believe that all together you’ve spent too much time wrongfully imprisoned: by my mother and aunt in Eyrie, and then again, after Joffrey’s death. But those times cannot count, as the penalty for a crime should be applied after the crime was committed, not before. So the only imprisonment that counts in this case is _after_ Daenerys’ death.”

Tyrion looked at Bran, brow furrowed. He tried to understand what exactly happened just now.

“So, your Grace…” he decided to sum up, slowly, “Do I understand correctly that you are sentencing me to punishment I already served?”

“Almost.” Bran’s face dropped, “That is the problem. I had to sentence you to to at least one moonturn of imprisonment for the sentence to look reasonable. The trouble is… your imprisonment after Daenerys’ death did not last entire month, but two days less.”

Tyrion raised his eyebrows in surprise and then, when Bran’s words sunk in, he just barked with laughter.

“So, your Grace,” he chuckled, “Am I to be imprisoned for two days now?”

“Yes.” Bran replied, calmly. “I hope you don’t hold it against me.”

Tyrion realised that Bran was really in distress about sentencing him for whole two days of prison. As if that was some kind of offence, as if that could hurt Tyrion.

The Lord Hand smiled warmly at his young king. “Your grace” he said, “I am immensely grateful for your mercy. Not only you are, in fact, effectively pardoning me for patricide, but also you provide legal closure for my case, because as the sentenced punishment had been carried out, no-one can put me on a trial for this crime again. I am more than happy to spend two more days in dungeons to have that covered.”

Bran sighed in relief. “I told you, you’ve spent too much time imprisoned already.” He said, softly. “My mother arrested you, accusing you of attempted murder of me, while you in fact cared about me and designed me that saddle.”

“Do not feel guilty about that, your grace,” Tyrion said, warmly, “Never feel guilty about your parents’ deeds. You are not responsible for them, _you_ are not _their_ parent.”

“Sometimes I feel like the parent of all the humanity.” Bran whispered. “It can be… exhausting.”

Tyrion nodded and stood up. Approached Bran, embraced his shoulders from behind. Bran immediately let his head fall back, touching Tyrion’s cheek with his temple. The boy took a deep breath, relaxed. And then recomposed himself, straighten his spine. Tyrion stepped back, sensing that hugging time was over.

 _He could be for me the father I didn’t have since I was 10,_ Bran thought, _but I can’t be that selfish. I can’t keep him for myself._

“Thank you, my lord, for understanding.” He said, instead, “I would like to announce my sentence in a fortnight. Please pick two days of that time to complete your punishment.”

Tyrion smiled and bowed. _Finally_ , he thought, _I lived to see a wise, just king in this cursed city._

And then, he remembered: _why do you think I came all this way?_

But there was something else. Tyrion knew he should have kept his mouth shut at this point, accept his king’s sentence, enjoy the prospect of having his situation legally cleared. He knew that Bran must have known about Shae and probably omitted her case in his sentence for a reason. Yet, Tyrion could not resist opening that particular wound.

“My father was not the only person I killed that night.” He said, slowly, cautiously.

“I know.” Bran replied, as expected, “But as you once said yourself, no-one would ask about the dead whore. I am clearing your name so you could serve the Realm, my Lord: as a Lannister, the Lord of Casterly Rock, and as the Hand - for those positions you need to have your records straight. But I am not clearing your conscience.”

“No-one can clear that, I’m afraid.” Tyrion muttered.

—

More or less Tyrion understood that super-natural abilities of his king allowed him to see the past and the present. Now after the war Bran was very much occupied on collecting all kinds of information: checking on small folks’ situation in various lands, keeping eye on moves of the lords, as well as reviewing experience of potential candidates for a future small council. 

It was a disturbing thought, Tyrion mused, that the king was able to watch any moment of his subjects’ lifes. Tyrion knew that he should not dwell on that too much, but he was too curious to let go. So, one evening, when they sat together by the hearth, after discussing abilities of some potential candidates for various administrative positions, the Lord Hand casually asked: “Have you checked my life just as thoroughly before offering me position of your Hand?”

Bran looked at him emotionlessly as ever. “I believe I have, my lord. Truth be told, I watched your past on several occasions. First, I wanted to see what happened to my siblings. Watching Sansa’s past I saw how kind you were to her. Then Sansa needed to know about Littlefinger’s actions, so I went back to see the whole affair around the dagger used on my attempted assassination. And finally, I just wanted to know why you pushed Jon to kill Daenerys. So I had a look at your past a little more carefully.”

Tyrion swallowed dry. “Then, if you know everything about me, I shall take it as a compliment that you still consider me worthy of the position of your Hand.” And then, cautiously, “If you know that much, if you can check everything, can you tell me about… other people, important for me?”

“No.” Bran refused, firmly. “I can watch people’s past for example to estimate their abilities to certain jobs, based on their life experience. I can judge someone’s character by collecting information how that person acted in certain situations. Mind you, I will never use my powers just to satisfy curiosity. Also, it should never be used to manipulate people, or to reveal personal secrets.”

“So, if I wanted to know about Sansa’s second marriage…?” Tyrion said, cautiously,

“Then you would have to ask her yourself.” Bran supplied. “It is her choice to tell you about it or not, and I would not jeopardise her trust.”

“And if I asked you about someone I cannot contact myself?” Tyrion did not give up. “If I wanted to know, for example… what happened to my first wife?”

Bran looked at Tyrion thoughtfully, as if concerned. After a moment of silence, he replied, softly: “I will not tell you that, my lord, I’m sorry. There’s no point of dwelling on that part of your past. It would not do you any good.”

Tyrion nodded, disappointed. This probably meant that Bran knew Tysha’s fate but did not want to share his knowledge. Most likely it would not be pleasant news.

“I can tell you something else, though.” Bran offered, as if wanting to make up for his refusal. “I saw your birth, my lord.”

Tyrion’s skin crawled; he did not exactly wish to hear how he tore his lady mother apart.

Bran leaned forward, offered Tyrion his hand. Squeezed Tyrion’s fingers, comfortingly.

“She held you before she passed away.” The king said, warmly, “She knew what you were and she loved you anyway. She named you and she forced lord Tywin to promise her that he would keep you alive and safe, rase you as his son. She made him swear on the twins’ heads and on his own life before she died.”

Tyrion suddenly remembered conversation he once had with his lord father. _“When have you ever done something that wasn't in your interest but solely for the benefit of the family?” - “The day that you were born! I wanted to carry you into the sea and let the waves wash you away. Instead, I let you live. And I brought you as my son. Because you're a Lannister.”_

Apparently, that was a lie. Tywin did not act out of respect for the Lannister House, he did not raise Tyrion because he was a Lannister. He did it because Joanna _forced_ him to.

Because she loved Tyrion, in spite of what he was. In spite of her own death that came with his birth. 

“Why… are you telling me that?” Tyrion whispered.

“I thought you deserve to know that your mother loved you. Also, your father was an ass, but that you knew already.”

Tyrion stood there, pale, breathing hard.“Will you tell me more about my mother?”

“I do not think that is a good idea, Tyrion,” Bran replied, softly, “I suggest you go now and have some rest. Take an extra flagon of wine, this time it may serve you well.”

(Tyrion didn’t realise this then, but a little piece of his broken soul was healed that night, after Bran’s words truly sunk in.)

—

The next day Tyrion indeed took his time to get on with his daily activities - first he had to get himself together with a long bath and hot breakfast. But when he finally went to see Bran, Tyrion was serene. Smiled gently at his young king. Apparently yesterday’s talk did him good, after all.

Bran, on the other hand, looked exhausted. His face was pale and sweaty. “My lord,” boy’s voice sounded tired, “I would like to have a private talk with you, if you please.”

“Of course,” Tyrion got a bit worried. Bran’s condition indicated that he had just came back from warging, possibly into a raven. Where did he go? What has he seen?

“Do you remember what I told you about Meera Reed?” Bran asked softly, when they were alone in king’s chamber. _Ah, so that what it was about._ Tyrion remembered, of course - Bran told him his whole story back in Winterfell and as far as Tyrion could read between the lines, he sensed that Meera was far more special for Bran than the boy was willing to admit.

“Yes,” Tyrion replied, gently. “I gather she is a very important girl for you, your grace.”

“She is,” Bran sounded rather shy, “But there’s nothing I can give her. I am not a man, not really.”

“You _are_ a man.” Tyrion disagreed. He took two cups, poured wine into them, and gave one to the young king.

Bran took the cup, but shook his head. Then bit his lower lip, blushed a little, looked down. Sipped a little wine.

_Was the Three Eyed Raven embarrassed?_

“I… don’t know what to do with a girl,” he whispered, “I wanted to learn and I made a terrible mistake of peeking on my parents on their wedding night… and it was not very inspirational. Nor encouraging.”

Tyrion choke on his wine. “Good Gods, I bet it was not! Why in the name of Seven you would look at _that_? As far as I know your parents were both very young, and not in love with each other.”

 _And somehow I don’t think Ned Stark was particularly refined lover_ \- that thought Tyrion kept to himself.

“Well, yes, let’s try to forget about that”, Bran was clearly uncomfortable. “It must had got better for them in time, as they produced five children together. But I do not want to look at people in intimate situation _ever_ again. Still, I don’t think there’s anything I can offer to a woman. Not when my cock does not work.”

Tyrion sighed. He pitied the boy, but on the other hand, he always considered life as full of possibilities.

“Slamming a cock into woman’s cunt is not exactly the most important part of lovemaking. Missandei and Grey Worm were lovers even though he had no cock at all. You still have your fingers and your tongue.”

Tyrion said that with kindness and was relieved to see that Bran apparently got interested. “I can get you some books,” Tyrion then offered, “in this case probably peeking on people is not a very good idea, better to _read_ something for a change. A nice erotic story explicit enough in certain parts.”

Bran nodded, grateful. Then added, cautiously: “In fact I mostly miss her companionship, I’d be happy just to have her by my side. I do not exactly experience lust, I just care about her deeply. The trouble is, I am not sure she would agree to come here, as we did not part on good terms. I checked on her - she is well, although seems to carry some kind of anger.”

At this point Bran took a scroll out of his pocket. “I wrote her a letter,” he confessed, shyly, “would you be kind to me and have a look at it?”

Tyrion took the scroll and read.

_Dear Meera,_

_I hope you will grant me kindness to read this letter, I hope you won’t burn it unread. As you probably know, I am the king now. Of course I am not your king, as the North is independent now and you remain under the rule of my sister._

_Anyway, I decided to write to you to explain myself. I had treated you terribly when we parted. I know I broke your heart and I am sorry for that._

_I told you I am not Bran Stark anymore, and it is - partly - true. I am the Three-Eyed-Raven, I can see any past or present event, I am the memory of the world. As such I cannot remain emotional as any other human being. I want nothing, I feel no anger, I experience no joy. Otherwise I would use my abilities either to dwell on the past (by watching my lost loved ones, for instance), or to feed my desires by lurking into various people’s lives, getting know their secrets. I do not do any of that._

_It does not mean, though, that I am washed out of any kindness. It does not mean that I do not value friendship. It does not mean I do not care._

_When you said you had to leave WInterfell I knew that you wanted me to stop you. I knew you wanted to stay with me - and even though you probably don’t believe that, I wished the same. But most of all, I decided to protect you, to save your life. If you stayed with me, you would face the dead. You would fight by my side and most likely you would perish. Like Theon Greyjoy, Alys Karstark, Lyanna Mormont. I could not have had that. I wanted you to leave and stay safe, if that was at all possible. And if I were to die, I did not want you to see it._

_So there you go: I was cruel and broke your heart to make you go away. Please, Meera, accept my apologies. Even though I do not regret what I did, because it worked. You survived._

_I must admit I have been checking on you from time to time… I guess I am not as indifferent as I should, not yet. I won’t deny it, I wish you were here now, with me. I miss you in my odd, emotionless way._

_Alas, I am what I am: I will never be a man you deserve as your companion. But if that does not put you off, please know that you are always welcomed in King’s Landing. I would like to have you here, to offer you a position in my small council. I am not asking as a king, I am asking as a friend, if you ever think that of me again._

_Shall you decide to stay in the North, I hope you will be happy. Probably I would not be able to give you happiness anyway._

_I wish I could._

_Please let me know your decision._

_Yours, Bran_

As far as Tyrion knew anything about women, Meera may very well be too angry to forgive Bran. But it never hurt to try.

“Send it, your grace.” He said.

—

Meera Reed came to King’s Landing a moonturn later. She spent a few hours in Bran’s chamber - Tyrion could not resist approaching the door at some point. He tried to hear something but he only figured out that she was yelling. He could not hear out what exactly did she shout.

After a long time Lord Hand was invited to step into the King’s chamber. Bran looked tired and sad, Meera’s eyes were red-rimmed, her hands shook. But then Brad spoke: “Lady Meera is staying here.”

Tyrion only nodded.

—

At the very beginning of Bran’s reign, Tyrion brought up the need of establishing quite a lot of treaties with the new Kingdom of the North: regarding trade, taxes, and many other issues. Bran dismissed him, though: “That’s not necessary now, my lord. My sister needs some time to rebuild Winterfell and to bring laws of her kingdom together; I told her we can postpone our negotiations for at least several months.”

Now, almost a year since his coronation, king Bran summoned his Lord Hand for a private meeting to discuss cooperation with the North. Tyrion thought it was about time.

“My lord Hand, I believe it is time for us to establish official relation with the Kingdom of the North; there are questions of boundaries, travelling, trade, taxes, navy and military alliances. I am afraid that beneficial deals are not _all_ that is needed. The trouble is, my sister is very much alone, and I think she could use some help in creating laws for her new, independent country. Both Robb and Jon were the Kings in the North in times of war; it is very different to lead a kingdom during peace. I think you are wise enough to see that the prosperity of the North is in the interest of the rest of Westeros.”

Tyrion nodded. “Yes, your grace, I believe it is, and therefore it is in fact in _our_ interest to help Queen Sansa to establish a stable kingdom. I agree that even when it comes to trade deals, we should not focus solely on our benefit, but try to balance the terms for the good of both realms.”

“I am glad you see it this way.” Bran relaxed in his wheelchair. “So now, my lord, you will pack your bags and go north to see to all that. Do not rush back - stay there as long as you decide.”

“Me?!” Tyrion was genuinely surprised, “but, your grace, I am your Hand. If we talk not only about drafting deals, but also about helping Queen Sansa with her own laws and decrees, it may take months!”

“Yes, it may indeed.” Bran was calm, as usual, “Therefore I intend to name Ser Davos a temporary Hand of the King. He would work in your stead, just as you did when your father appointed you.”

Tyrion furrowed his brow, but did not object. In fact, he thought Ser Davos would do very well on that position (actually, he proposed Ser Davos as the Hand of the King at the very beginning, when Bran was elected). The rest of the small council was pretty much established, with many new faces (including Meera Reed as Mistress of Coin. She turned out to be surprisingly well suited for the post - dealt with Iron Bank splendidly. The northern ladies were rather resourceful, apparently). With Brienne and Bronn gone, the only “temporary” member left was Samwell Tarly, serving as a Grand Maester, but that would also end soon, as the new Maester that Bran picked was about to come to King’s Landing in four or five months, maybe less. All finally seemed to start working well, and Tyrion actually even found himself less busy lately. He could indeed go to the North for some time; Ser Davos rebuilt the royal fleet and could easily pass the duties of Master of Ships to someone else, taking over duties of Hand of the King.

“Take Ser Podrick Payne with you.” Bran added, “I talked to him lately and it turned out he’s not entirely happy with his current position anymore. He _tries_ to take his vows rather seriously and apparently is miserable that they forbid female company. In my opinion it would do him good to drop Kingsguard, get married, and settle as a lord of his own house. I think for a start he should go north with you; there are many empty castles there, as many houses perished during the War.”

That was rather good news for Tyrion - he enjoyed the prospect of travelling in the company of his former squire. Although Tyrion did not attended brothels anymore, he would very much like to get Pod a little drunk in order to get some juicy details about young man’s recent escapades. Tyrion knew that Pod indeed _tried_ to take his vows seriously; the trouble was, he did not succeed. That is probably why, as Bran said, Pod was miserable about the ban on female company on his post: not because he _missed_ the said company, but because he felt guilty about not missing a chance to have it whenever it occurred.

“Very well, your Grace” Tyrion smiled and bowed, “the North it is, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I wrote in tags, additional to be added later. Tyrion/Tysha story will be referred to, but I felt it's too early to add an actual tag. (Meaning: I have not drafted that part yet, give me time).


	3. The Queen in the North

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this is show!canon I must say that I consider as canon all the deleted scenes that have been revealed. That includes the scene from the Long Night, from the crypts (in case you did not see it: Sansa and Tyrion fought the dead, killed some, and actually saved Gilly, little Sam and Missandei).   
> Also, I don't know what happened to Jeyne Poole, I think she did not appear by Sansa's side in King's Landing, nor later back in the North. So I just mention her here as if she were gone :( (but I am not entirely certain she is...)

Tyrion tried very hard not to think of Sansa. After election of Bran she left King’s Landing almost without goodbye. He did not try to get closer to her. Last time he did that, she ended up telling him a secret about Jon’s parentage (although Tyrion was well aware that was rather a political move). Besides, she was with Arya, and they were both focused on Jon (angry about the compromise they’ve established). Sansa went North to be a Queen… and Tyrion felt she did not want to talk to him, so he gave her space.

Nonetheless, he could not help himself, some nights. He thought about what an amazing woman she became.

He also thought about her ivory complexion and sky-blue eyes, and those rosy full little lips of her, a weak man that he was.

And her words kept coming back to him… “You were the best of them.” “Your divided loyalties would become a problem.”

Well, his loyalties were still divided.

But he couldn’t help a feeling that it could be different now. He served another king… but not another woman anymore.

One day he broke and wrote a letter - a formal note, rather. Congratulating her on coronation and expressing hope that the North and Six Kingdoms will develop fruitful cooperation, leading all people of Westeros to much needed well-being after all the wars.

Her reply was almost as formal. But there was a post-scriptum, reading: “I am glad to hear that you are well, Tyrion.”

That made him smile. Then it made his chest ache. In a spur of the moment he tossed the scroll into fire.

Regretted it ever since.

**—**

Sansa was… lonely.

She never thought it would bother her that much. She thought she didn’t _need_ anyone, but now she knew she was wrong.

As a girl she dreamt about leaving Winterfell, about going south and never coming back. She loved her father, of course, and admired her mother. She had a best friend named Jeyne Poole. But all together she did not consider herself attached, neither to the North nor to her family. She did not regret leaving her mother and Jeyne behind when she went to King’s Landing. She was actually annoyed that she had to share the journey with her sister Arya.

She dreamed about being a queen by king Joffrey’s side. Some time later she dreamed about being the lady of Highgarden, married to Loras Tyrell. Not worrying about leaving her family behind.

When all her dreams were crushed, she braced herself in an armour of courtesy and lies. She focused on surviving in King’s Landing in spite of her father’s death and her sister’s disappearance. She kept her distance from her Imp husband, no matter how kind he tried to be. She did not escape with the Hound. As long as she stayed in the capital, she managed to distance herself, at least mentally, from everyone. Joffrey and Cersei, most of all. She let herself believe she may have some kindred spirits around, like Shae or Margaery. But in the end, she trusted wrong people: Ser Dontos and Petyr Baelish.

She’s been telling herself the same thing she told the Hound: that if there were no Joffrey and Petyr and Ramsay in her life, she would have stayed a little bird all her life. The trouble was, deep down she did not entirely believe that. Deep down she was an abused girl that had been hurt for no particular reason, and even worse: for no purpose.

Perhaps it made her stronger. Perhaps in only broke her, really. The strength she showed to the world may have very well been only her outer, protective shell. Her walls.

After all the mistakes she’s made, now she sometimes felt almost afraid of living. The constant fear about whether or not people around her are trustworthy made her feel exhausted. Now she almost felt like surviving everything was useless. What is the value of being alive when you don’t enjoy living?

In the end she managed to get rid of many toxic people. Ramsay was dead, so was Petyr. Reuniting with Jon and Arya was one of the brightest moments of her recent past. Those were the people she trusted - but unfortunately, they were not by her side anymore.

Jon was a broken man since he killed Daenerys. No wonder: he was a good man and he murdered the woman he loved. At first Sansa did not like the compromise they’ve established in King’s Landing: that Jon was to be exiled to the Night’s Watch as a criminal. But now she saw the point of this arrangement: Jon was not fit to rule the North, not anymore. Frustrated and drowned in self-pity, Jon was not fit to rule anything, really. Sansa was glad to hear that he went north of the Wall - perhaps his wildling friends would help him find the purpose of living, again. Help him forget. Help him forgive… himself.

Jon was never well-suited for being a brother of the Night’s Watch either: he sought adventures and glory. For the same reason he was not well-suited to be the king; especially in the times of peace. Also, he was terrible at politics. But he could not stay in Winterfell now, he could not have a place by the side of a new Queen in the North. As a former king he had to stay away for the sake of her peaceful reign.

Arya, on the other hand, was a wild spirit. She has always been independent - even as a girl, and probably because of that she managed to escape King’s Landing and make her own way to become a faceless assassin.

Interestingly they both developed, the Stark sisters. In her girlhood Sansa dreamt of leaving Winterfell and becoming a queen in the South, but later she focused all her efforts on re-claiming her home and restoring the North to its former glory. Arya, on the other hand, was focused all the time on revenging her family; she even went to Braavos wishing to murder Starks’ enemies. But in the end she became a saviour of humanity. And that is why she felt she needed to leave Winterfell now - she always hated attention. After she killed the Night Kind, after she became the Bringer of the Dawn, she didn’t even show at the feast, which was mainly to her honour.

She always preferred to stay in the shadows.

Sansa was not close to her sister when they were children, but she learned to read her later. When Arya said she wanted to explore “west of Westeros”, Sansa understood what that meant. Arya did not want to play a hero in her own country. After saving everyone’s life she preferred to step away.

Sansa was grateful, in a way. Arya would be much more suitable for the position of the queen in the North. A warrior and a hero, with no history of cooperating with Lannisters, Boltons, wildlings, or Petyr Baelish. But, of course, Arya did not want to rule; so she decided to keep out of Sansa’s way. The best Arya could have done was to go away, to leave the North to Sansa. To leave her alone, at least at a start of her reign.

But because of that their pack was broken. Would they survive the Winter as lone wolfs? _Father would not think so_.

So, there she was: alone, the Ice Queen in the North. No family, no friends.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, Sansa stayed awake, staring at the canopy, thinking.

_I am not even 20 yet. I am not ready to be entirely on my own._

_My mother had my father._

_Margaery had her Grandmother._

_I wish I had a friend._

And then she remembered kind green yes and a kiss on her gloved hand in the crypts.

Brienne and Theon and even Bran were all out back then, facing the dead. In the final moment of the ultimate threat Jon and Arya were not by Sansa’s side neither.

Only Tyrion was.

—

Sansa worked hard on building a new kingdom of the North. She did not eat much - it was usual for her, not to eat when in distress. She did not sleep well either.

When Tyrion arrived in Winterfell, he immediately noticed that queen Sansa Stark was too pale and too thin.

He felt irrational need to take care of her.

Last time he tried, he had one argument: “I am your husband, let me help you.”

It didn’t work then.

It would not work now, as he was not her husband anymore.

But still, he wanted to try.

—

It took some time to gain her trust.

At first formal, prim and cold, after a few days the icy Queen in the North started to open up. They talked of the realms, they talked of laws, taxes and boundaries. And then they talked of more personal stuff, but nothing really sensitive. Favourite food, funny childhood memories. No pain, nothing sad. Small talks, really.

Nothing regarding their time together.

But at least when they shared meals, he made sure she has eaten properly.

That was a good start.

—

The first time Tyrion Lannister arrived in Winterfell he was a southern guest, part of royal delegation. Northmen looked at him with curiosity and indifference.

The second time he came as much hated Lannister - his family being responsible for the deaths of the Starks. Moreover, he came alongside a foreign Dragon Queen, a Targaryen, who was there to help fighting the dead, but who also took over the heart and mind of their king, Jon Snow. Tyrion remembered well that smallfolk of Winterfell never bothered to hide their hatred towards him and Jaime, making offensive gestures.

After the Long Night Tyrion did not have a chance to contemplate his position in the North anymore: there was a feast, but quite quickly his queen decided to move south, and he left with her. So now, arriving to Winterfell for the third time, he was genuinely surprised when he met rather warm welcome from the servants of the keep. Stable boys, maids, stewards - they all served him with some kind of kindness, smiling and saying things like: “good to see you again, m’lord,” and “hope your journey was uneventful, m’lord,” and “let me know if you needed anything else, m’lord.”

One lazy winter afternoon, when they sat together over some ledgers, Tyrion decided to ask Sansa: “Your grace, have you by any chance ordered your people to be especially polite towards your guest from the south? Or am I simply respected here for being a Hand of the Stark king? No-one spits on the ground at the sight of me anymore and I must say, it feels weird.”

Sansa snorted, “I did no such thing, my lord, although I suspect your role in establishing Stark rule over all the kingdoms certainly improved your position in the North. But from what I’ve heard, you mostly gain smallfolk’s respect by fighting in the crypts. Those women and children who made it alive told their surviving fathers, husbands and bothers that the little lord Lannister bravely defended them with his dragonglass dagger. Missandei, Gilly and little Sam were not the only ones we saved that night, you know.”

Tyrion raised his eyebrows in surprise - but that was rather pleasant news.

“I very much value any respect I can have in the eyes of the North,” he said, “and so I will do my best not to compromise it. This time,” he winked towards the queen, “I will be careful not to pass out in the kennels, for example. Although now that the Winter is here, it would be too cold to sleep there anyway.”

Sansa’s eyes widened, “Are you telling me you have slept in Winterfell kennels, my lord?”

She was genuinely surprised. “When was that? Please tell me it was not my brother Robb who disrespected you with such an accommodation.”

“Oh, no,” Tyrion chuckled, “when I came back from the Wall I stopped here to give Bran a design of a saddle, and your brother, albeit highly suspicious, offered me a decent chamber to stay. I chose a brothel in Wintertown, anyway.” Tyrion waved his hand dismissively.

Sansa politely ignored the remark about brothel, but nodded at the memory of finding that saddle. The item survived - she discovered it hidden in some storage room when she was supervising cleaning the keep after Ramsay’s death. Later, when Bran came back, she gave it back to him, and he explained to her that the design was a gift from Tyrion Lannister.

“I should have thanked you for that design, my lord,” she said suddenly, “Bran told me it gave him back the joy of living, and that it very much helped him to accept his new condition. You gave my little brother a reason to carry on, and for that I will always be grateful.”

Tyrion smiled at her. “I never wanted your brother dead, none of them, really.”

“I know that now,” Sansa nodded, “Bran told me all about the dagger and lord Baelish’s scheme to frame you for that attempted murder.”

“Yes, framing me for murder was apparently Littlefinger’s hobby.” Tyrion admitted, somehow bitterly.

And there it was: a subject they avoided for so long. Sansa suddenly felt bitterness in her mouth and a bile in her throat. Her first instinct was to change the subject, but then she realised she should not run away from it again.

So she swallowed dry and spoke.

“My lord, I feel I have to apologise, and twice. First of all, of course, for leaving you behind after Joffrey’s murder. But also I am sorry about how I addressed that issue when we met here just before the Long Night. I was deeply disturbed by the arrival of your queen and her dragons, I was worried about Jon, and feared the War to come… all together I guess I did not feel safe to talk to you entirely openly back then.”

Tyrion took a deep breath. He wanted to tell her it was all right, but it was not, in fact. So, after all, he exhaled, and instead said as kindly as he could: “Thank you for saying that, Sansa. Right now I do see the reasons for your cautiousness towards me back then. I only hope you don’t feel anymore that you have to be so careful around me. I really want to be your friend, if it means anything to you.”

“It means a great deal to me,” Sansa whispered, “Thank you, Tyrion.”

Little lord relaxed a bit, hint of smile on his face. He decided to continue the painful topic, though.

“I admit I was kind of hurt when I learned that my wife, whom I wanted to call as my witness on my trial, disappeared immediately after the murder. I never thought you did it, though, even when they presented your necklace as a proof of your guilt.”

“You wanted me as your witness…?” Sansa was touched, while feeling guilty.

She never actually learned what exactly happened to Tyrion after she left King’s Landing. She only heard he killed his father and escaped. She didn’t want to ask Petyr about Tyrion, because instinctively she felt she should hide any signs of her care for her sham husband. Perhaps she wanted to deny that she cared at all - even to herself.

On the other hand, she never believed that Tyrion killed Joffrey, and also she could not resist telling people that lord Tyrion was not like the other Lannisters - that he was kind to her. That was probably enough for Littlefinger to figure out that Sansa would not want to engage herself in any plot aimed precisely against the Imp.

And so, Petyr was not eager to tell her anything on her husband she didn’t ask about. Perhaps he didn’t want her to feel responsible for Tyrion’s misery, and most likely he did not want her to think at all about whatever she left behind when he took her away.

But at least now she could finally explain to Tyrion what happened.

“Littlefinger manoeuvred me into all of that. He sent ser Dontos to give me the necklace, I never knew there was poison in it. Then the same ser Dontos took me away, saying that I must run if I want to live. I was terrified when Petyr killed him and revealed it was all his scheme; but it was too late to go back at this point. Please know that I always knew that Joffrey’s murder was not your doing, just as it wasn’t mine.”

“It was lady Olenna, she confessed to Jaime before she died, he told me.” Tyrion said, bitterly. “Although she could have poisoned Joffrey without using you. She didn’t need your necklace to smuggle the poison, no-one would search the Queen’s grandmother before the wedding feast. That must have been Littlefinger’s idea, to get a grip on you, to have a pretext for taking you away and then keeping you in secret by his side. So together they made a plot of mutual benefit: the Queen of Thorns wanted Joffrey dead, while Petyr Baelish wanted to take you away. It looks like I was rather a collateral damage in all of that.”

Sansa looked at Tyrion with genuine sorrow, so he smiled to her, reassuringly, “Worry not, your grace, as you have said: we both survived, while they are all dead.”

“I’ve heard… you killed your father before you fled.” Sansa said, quietly. Tyrion replied, “Perhaps I will tell you all about that one day, but it is a story for another night. The one with lots of wine.”

Sansa nodded, and to lighten the mood, she remarked: “I’ve noticed you don’t drink that much these days, my lord.” Tyrion smirked, “Indeed, my queen. I suppose the amount of work keeps me sober and so one or two cups in the evening is all I need nowadays. And that is how we come back to the issue of passing out in the kennels: fear not, I do not drink myself to _that_ point anymore.”

“When was it, then?” Sansa laughed. Tyrion grinned, thinking that her laugh is actually the most beautiful sound he ever heard.

(Had she actually _laughed_ in front of him before? Probably not, he would have remembered.)

“It was when I came here for the first time, with king Robert. I didn’t fancy being a freak on the Northmen’s feast, so I just wandered around the keep, drinking. I had an interesting conversation with Jon Snow, who apparently was not welcomed at the feast at all. And then I am not sure what happened. I simply drank until I passed out surrounded by your dogs.”

The story would have been funny for Sansa if Tyrion had not mentioned Jon being banned from the family event.

“I never even noticed that Jon was not present at that feast,” Sansa admitted, sadly, “just as I must say I did not notice your absence. I am afraid I only had eyes for Joffrey and the Queen back then - stupid little girl I was.”

Tyrion’s brow frowned. He fought the instinct of taking her hand, successfully.

“Sansa, that was only natural. You didn’t know back then how cruel both my sister and nephew were.”

“That’s true,” Sansa mused, “at that point I actually genuinely admired Cersei. She seemed so nice, she complemented my dress, she smiled to me. And I remember how touched I was when Joffrey expressed his deepest condolences after Bran’s accident.”

Tyrion scoffed, “he did that because _I_ forced him to. Right after I woke up in those kennels, actually. He was a stubborn little shit, but a good slap on his cheek convinced him that he should behave like a prince, after all. Now I wish I didn’t make him act decently, perhaps you would have seen his true colours earlier.”

“You really did that?!” Sansa was shocked.

“I slapped him twice then, actually.” Tyrion confirmed, amused, “but mind you, he wasn’t even a king yet. And then I slapped him again after the riots in King’s Landing when he refused to send someone after you, and _that_ was a royal cheek I struck then.”

Sansa’s eyes widened. She knew Tyrion was always kind to her, but only now she realised he cared for her much more and much earlier than she assumed.

“Did you send the Hound to rescue me?” She asked, meekly. She suddenly remembered Tyrion’s voice behind her, saying “well done, Clegane,” right after he asked if she was hurt.

“No.” Tyrion shook his head, “Sandor Clegane was not with us there. I tried to convince ser Meryn Trant to look after you, but of course, he refused.”

After a short silence Tyrion asked, cautiously, “Tell me Sansa, truly, did anyone hurt you back then?”

This time Sansa shook her head. “I was attacked by a group of men; they actually pinned me to the ground, but the Hound came and killed them before they managed to take me. So no, I was not raped _back then_.”

Tyrion furrowed his brow. What did she just say? The way she phrased it - as if… as if she _was_ raped on some other occasion…?

“My lady…” Tyrion started, slowly, cautiously again, “are you saying…?”

“No!” Sansa cut him off most definitively too suddenly. She flushed as she realised what she involuntarly implied. Sansa didn’t know what exactly Tyrion heard about her second marriage, but she was absolutely not ready to bring this subject out. She suddenly stood up, readjusted her skirts and got ready to leave the chamber. “If you excuse me, my lord, I just realised I still have much to do today, elsewhere. We’ll see each other at the evening meal, right?”

Tyrion bowed. “Your grace.”

She left.

Tyrion was wise enough not to get back to that issue. He was concerned, of course, but he knew she was safe now. Whoever hurt her in her past was most likely dead.

From time to time Tyrion acutely regretted that Varys was dead. In general, he tried to not think about Varys’ death, of course, to avoid the sharp pang of guilt in his chest - because Tyrion did feel guilty for betraying his friend, naturally. Sometimes, though, it was impossible for Tyrion not to admit that he wished to have the former Master of Whispers back, and not just because he missed him personally. This was one of those times - if the Spider lived, Tyrion would find a way to get some information out of him. He most likely knew much more about Sansa’s second marriage than he ever revealed. Tyrion was smart enough to understand that marrying Bolton bastard, especially considering Bolton’s involvement in the Red Wedding, must have been difficult for Sansa, but most likely not more disgusting than marrying the Lannister Imp. In spite of the fact that their marriage was sham and his wife left him to be executed, Tyrion still felt hurt when he learned that she remarried. All together he never learned more on that subject: Varys did not provide any details, and Tyrion didn’t inquire, mostly because he did not want to reveal his interest on the subject.

He only dared to ask Bran, recently, but got rejected. That fact only confirmed Tyrion’s suspicions that there was something especially dark about Sansa’s marriage to Ramsay. But as he did not want to talk about his own dark moments, he wanted to respect Sansa’s right to keep her secrets.

Of course, Tyrion _wanted_ to know. But he did not want to push her.

For the night, Tyrion took an extra flagon of wine to his chamber, sensing he may need more this time to fall asleep.

He didn’t sleep well, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I assume that Tyrion and Sansa do not know their stories at this point. Sansa, I think, knows nothing about what happened to Shae, too. Tyrion's and Sansa's cold and awkward reunite in Winterfell may be in my opinion explained (partly) by the lack of that mutual knowledge; Sansa's somehow nonchalant "apologies, for leaving like that" indicated that she didn't really know what he endured after she left. His attitude in that scene also suggested that he didn't know what she was thrown into. Also, a clear message about Tyrion's ignorance on what happened in the North was the scene of Theon's and Yara's arrival to Dragonstone: Tyrion apparently still thought that Theon killed Bran and Rickon, and he also didn't get why Theon was not fit to rule (hence he did not hear about Ramsay's cruelty). Theon, I think, did not provide any details, then. And later, when Tyrion casually asked Jon how was Sansa - it seemed to me that Tyrion did not know what she's been through at all!
> 
> Now, brace yourselves, a lot of talking is coming. Because I BELIEVE IN TALKING. I want them to talk everything through, partly because that is a much needed therapy for both of them (!), and partly because I just believe in TALKING, in general, especially in relationship (I am a big fan of talking. Big fan. I talk. And drink. Bear with me.). So I want to make them talk about everything that happened to them. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting! You have no idea how much this means to me! 😘


	4. Winter evenings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I soooo should not be posting this right now. *work piling up*
> 
> Well.
> 
> Here goes (some) talking.

Winter evenings were long. Tyrion was never an early riser, and so he would not retire early either. His mind worked at its best in the afternoons and evenings, but after hours of work he needed to relax; he liked reading, of course, but he always longed for more social activities. And so he tried to teach Podrick how to play cyvasse (he brought his own board for it, he got it in Essos where he learned to play this game), but Pod was not good at it. One day queen Sansa walked on them when they were playing in the library.

She wanted to know, what kind of game that was.

Pod used it as an excuse to get away.

And so Tyrion spent entire evening explaining the rules to Sansa and then playing the game.

She needed three evenings to get it. And then it turned out she was excellent at this game.

“Your grace,” Tyrion chuckled when he finally lost, “you have amazingly analytic mind.”

And there it was, a genuine praise. Sansa felt proud and she was surprised how much it meant to her that Tyrion Lannister considered her intelligent.

Tyrion, on the other hand, felt satisfied that he estimated her wits correctly. He aways thought she was more clever than she let on (he said that even to Jon, once), but now he had a final proof that his judgement was right. Of course, he saw some proofs earlier: when she prepared Winterfell for the Long Night, when she played political games, when she won her crown. But playing cyvasse with her gave him an opportunity to watch closer the process of her thinking in strategic game. It was really fascinating.

Arousing even, perhaps…?

(Later that evening Tyrion refrained from jerking off to the thoughts of her. But it was of no use; his brain betrayed him and when he fell asleep it produced some dirty dream featuring Sansa naked, sitting on cyvasse board. Tyrion woke up on the verge of spilling his seed, so he gave up, wrapped his palm around his shaft and gave himself those few stokes necessary to provide a release, reliving that dream. He felt rather guilty lately - so he did not join her in the hall for breakfast. In the evening, though, he proposed another round of cyvasse.)

—

Kingdom of the North had many centuries of its own history, but it last functioned as an independent realm before the Targaryen conquest. Right now there was a need to establish all the laws and taxes from scratch, and Tyrion was happy to advice Sansa in that area. He had some good experience and knowledge on economics, but it turned out Sansa was a skilled manager herself.

There was no point of keeping the Night’s Watch, for example - most of the recruits came from other kingdoms, while the North was just one of the Seven. The North, in general, was underpopulated - after the wars it was even worse than before. In the North now no-one would get rid of a bastard son by sending him to the Wall anymore. And in case of criminals who did not deserve death sentence it was much more reasonable to punish them with penal labour at rebuilding roads, bridges and canals, devastated by the War.

Meanwhile, apparently Jon went north of the Wall - choosing freedom. The rumour said he was even proclaimed the king of the wildlings - somehow, Tyrion was not surprised.

“Some of empty castles along the Wall could be managed by the wildlings, if they wanted to remain south of the wall and accepted our laws.” Tyrion suggested Sansa one evening, when they sat together by the hearth, sipping wine, “And anyway, if Jon builds a kingdom beyond the Wall you have to make deals with him, establish rules on boundaries and on trade, perhaps… it would be good to make sure they won’t slaughter northern villages, you know. Invite Jon for negotiations. Do we have any way to contact him?”

Sansa nodded, slowly, “Before he went north of the Wall, he wrote to me. He said I can always send a raven to Castle Black and he would have this correspondence checked every few weeks. If we send the invitation now, perhaps he would come in a moonturn or two.”

“I advise you to do that, your grace.”

Sansa looked at Tyrion thoughtfully.

“Would you like to see Jon again?”

Tyrion shrugged.

“I would, eventually. I like him very much and I feel responsible for his misery.”

“You both fell for _her_ , trapped by her beauty,” Sansa said bitterly.

And there it was, a long avoided subject: Daenerys. But then, he already knew Sansa rather preferred getting straight to the point in any discussion, rather than circle around. Tyrion actually admired that.

So, he shook his head. Decided to be honest. “It’s not that simple. For example, I was impressed by her determination to change the world. To break the wheel, as she put it herself.”

Sansa sighed: “You men tend to have that desire: to change the world. And why?”

Tyrion stroked his beard, thoughtful. “Why? I don’t know, To make it a better place?”

He looked at Sansa hopefully, but she did not seem to sympathise.

“Well, I do not think this way. I don’t think we can _change_ the world. We can fight for it - that’s true. Did Arya change the world by killing the Night King?”

“She certainly saved us.” Tyrion replied in a small voice.

“But, you see,” Sansa continued “I believe we can _improve_ a lot, while I do not believe in drastic change. What does that mean: to break the wheel? If that wheel is of a cart we all sit in, we’ll just crash and die.”

“True.” Tyrion replied, “ I guess I forgot that I am in that cart, at least because of my noble birth. The rich and powerful have always preyed on the powerless, that's how they became rich and powerful in the first place.”

Sansa was thoughtful. “I just think we are privileged; but we also are responsible for the smallfolk, And as I don’t believe _breaking_ anything would do, I think there is a room for… improvement?”

“Breaking always sounds destructive” Tyrion murmured, as if only now he realised it.

“Exactly. But change may be good and possible, if applied gradually. I guess I believe in… reforms? Building a better world step by step, stone by stone, for our children.”

“ _Our_ children, my Queen?” Tyrion could not stop himself from grinning ironically. Sansa blushed, but remained serious. “I meant it in general term, as in _next generation_.”

“Of course you did.”

For a few minutes they sat in silence. Then Sansa narrowed her eyes on Tyrion and asked all the sudden:

“Are you afraid of me?”

“Should I?” He replied immediately, thinking _damn you, woman, of course I am, you are scary as hell. But not in the way you’re asking about._

Sansa sighed and said, somehow resigned: “You once told me that good ruler must inspire some fear.”

Ah, there it was, again. Reference to their talk from the past.

“Sansa, you are clever, you know very well that it was just a rationalisation. You saw that I was afraid of Daenerys, and I tried to convince myself that she was still trustworthy. You must understand that I simply needed to believe that supporting her was something right. Following her got me out of the darkest moment of my life, gave me some purpose, stopped me from drinking myself to death. But also it made me join the invaders of Westeros, attacking my ancestral home and fighting against Lannister armies. If Jaime didn’t come North on his own to join us, I would end up fighting against him as well. I had to believe it was right, otherwise I would just go insane.”

Sansa nodded and looked at Tyrion thoughtfully.

“I think I made similar rationalisation about Littlefinger once. After I reclaimed Winterfell I knew he used me and tricked me terribly, but still I let him be, and he almost managed to turn me against Arya. I think some part of me refused to acknowledge his faults because that meant acknowledging my own mistakes, as I played his game for too long. I lied to the lords of the Vale about my aunt’s death, I _swore_ she committed suicide. It was not easy for me to later accuse Littlefinger in front of those same lords of murdering Lysa… To sum up: I made mistakes.” - she shrugged.

“Haven’t we all?” Tyrion replied softly, “I believed Daenerys was just, although it was scary how easily she burned alive whoever stood in her way. Yes, I was afraid of her - because sometimes she seemed unpredictable. I believed though that loyal and balanced advisors would keep her sane and help her hold back her worst impulses. Clearly, I was wrong.”

And after a short pause, he added, “You are nothing like her, Sansa, you are terrifyingly levelled and rational. So no, I am not afraid of you in _that_ way - which, I believe, is a compliment. There is a difference between respect and fear, and I believe you truly evoke the former, and lots of it.”

“Well, I am no fire, that’s for sure.” Sansa said with a barely traceable hint of bitterness, “I’m an ice queen, cold and prim.”

Tyrion smiled gently and then raised his brow on her, “I would not say that, your grace. I do not think you are ice cold. But I admire your ability of controlling your emotions. That is really a great quality of a ruler.”

“Thank you, my lord. That means a lot to me.” Sansa said with small voice, somehow vulnerably.

(She was almost terrified by the fact that his praise made her tummy actually _flutter_ ).

—

One afternoon, when they worked on most boring taxes issue, Tyrion dared to ask:

“Have you ever, your grace, thought about naming a Hand and a small council? Why are you doing all the work by yourself, with some help from a foreign guest?”

Sansa looked at him, thoughtfully.

“My Lord,” she replied after some time, “You think about a realm that consists of more than one kingdom, and that have many great families. In the North we are not that many; Starks are actually the only Great House, all the others are supposed to be our vassals.”

“Go on,” Tyrion encouraged, although he already had an idea what she wanted to say.

“Naming a Hand of unmarried queen is basically giving one man quite a lot of power of ruling the North. Puttinghis house ahead of all the others. Also, it is a personal issue: I do not trust elder lords entirely, and I do not wish to be patronised.”

Tyrion suffer, “no-one would dare patronising _you_.”

“You’re wrong, Tyrion, they would. I am just a woman, and a young one.”

(Tyrion wanted to protest, but then he suddenly remembered his talk with Varys about Daenerys’ and Jon’s claim to the Iron Throne. “The cocks are important, I’m afraid,” the eunuch said. So eventually, Tyrion said nothing now.)

Sansa continued: “So, I don’t trust the old lords. I do not trust young ones either, especially unmarried ones. And besides, they have no political experience. The North has not been independent for centuries, and Northern lords were never keen to go south and engage themselves at the court. So why would I rely on people who know even less than I do?”

Tyrion nodded, seeing her point.

“Do you remember who supported me last time when you were here? Who was my trusted advisor?” Sansa asked, suddenly.

“Lord Yohn Royce.” Tyrion replied, remembering very well an old man who clearly did not trust him.

“Exactly.” Sansa confirmed, “A friend of my father, but also a Bannerman of House Arryn. I trusted him because he is a good man, but also I felt comfortable because he had no interest here in the North. Alas, his duties are by my cousin, and so he could not stay by my side for too long.”

Tyrion looked at her thoughtfully. “Perhaps it would be not such a bad idea, though…” he supplied, slowly, “for you to have a Hand from the South.”

Sansa’s heart suddenly started to beat faster. _What was he implying? Was he willing to stay here… for her?_

“Someone like Yon Royce or Davos, there are more men of that sort, wise and experienced” Tyrion continued, and Sansa felt a wave of disappointment, “I can see why you do not wish to have a young bachelor as your Hand, but an older lord from the south may prove himself useful.”

Sansa wasn’t sure what to say at this point, but she was saved by the knock on the door.

Maester Wolkan came in, bowing apologetically. “I am sorry to interrupt, your grace, my lord.” He said, handing them a scroll sealed with sigil of a crowned direwolf, “but I received a raven from King Bran and I thought it was important. It is addressed to both of you, actually.”

Tyrion and Sansa looked at the scroll, surprised. Tyrion took it and broke the seal. Maester Wokan left the chamber, and Sansa leaned in while Tyrion unrolled the piece of parchment. They read it silently, together.

_Your Grace my dear Sister, and Lord Hand,_

_I am happy that your work proceeds; not wishing to interrupt it, I decided to write to both of you to let you know that I have checked the status of your marriage and it has never been annulled. Due to the destruction of most of King’s Landing archives I had to check this issue myself, but I am rather certain no-one ever completed appropriate procedure according to the laws of the Seven. If either of you wished to ever remarry, I strongly advice you to see to the annulment first. With best regards, king Bran Stark._

“What the _actual_ fuck.” Tyrion muttered.

Sansa looked at him, surprised.

“Apologies, I should not curse,” Tyrion shrugged, “but really, why now? Why didn’t he say something when I was still in King’s Landing? I could have talked to some Septon there… are there any Septons in the North, by the way?”

“None in Winterfell, not anymore,” Sansa shook her head. And then, thoughtfully, “My lord, are you eager to remarry… any time soon?”

Tyrion looked at her, surprised, “Not at all.” He replied, “but I thought that you…”

“I never want to be someone's wife again.” Sansa’s voice was surprisingly hard now.

Tyrion’s first instinct was to make a joke, to tell her that she may try having a whole-husband instead of a half-man, but then he remembered"you were the best of them”, and said nothing.

He looked at Sansa and noticed she seemed irritated. As if she suddenly realised something that pissed her off.

He raised his eyebrow at her, so she explained: “Littlefinger said that he took care of it, but apparently, he didn’t.”

Tyrion was better acquainted with the laws of the Seven than Sansa, and therefore, he explained: “It wasn't for him to take care of it, we should have had at least signed the papers ourselves. I didn't sign anything, did you?”

“No.” Sansa shook her head.

“Well, then. It seems that there is one more legal thing we should take care of.”

After a short silence Sansa said, “I wonder why he did that. Why he lied to me that he annulled my marriage. Well, to sell me off to the Boltons, that is obvious. But why lie about the annulment? He could have said you were presumed dead, everyone would believe that.”

Tyrion wasn’t sure why that bothered her so much. “Does it matter now?”

“It does to me.” Sansa confirmed, “It is one more lesson I should have learned. I just now realised that perhaps he planned something further and it would have been convenient for him to be able to declare my marriage to Ramsay invalid as well…”

She said that more to herself than to Tyrion, but then she remembered he was there, and so: “Never mind, my lord, that is for me to think about, no need to discuss that further. Of the two of us it is you anyway who may need the annulment to marry again.”

(Her own words burned her tongue. She refused to acknowledge it.)

Tyrion smirked: “Probably not, I have not been good at marriage. For now I do not consider making any new lady miserable by marrying her.”

Sansa narrowed her eyes at him, “It is not that bad to be your wife. I can attest to that, you really were the best of them. And don’t you need to produce a Lannister heir to Casterly Rock?”

Tyrion huffed, “Oh, my lady, I am much too sober to discuss my situation as the last Lannister right now.”

“Very well then, perhaps some other time. I suppose we will need to get back to the issue of our annulment at some point, butmay we now just finish on the taxes?” Sansa felt she needed to get back to safer ground.

“Of course, your grace.”

\--

The annulment issue popped out again one evening, when they tried to play cyvasse again, but for some reason this time they could not really focus on the game. They sipped some dark ale; Sansa was pensive.

“What are you thinking about, my lady?” Tyrion dared to ask.

Sansa looked at him as if she wanted to change the subject, but after short consideration she decided to be honest.

“I had a letter from lord Cley Cerwyn today,” she sighed, “nothing specific, but I have a feeling he’s trying to get closer to me in a way that I do not care for.”

And then, cautiously: “my lord, if you really don’t wish to remarry soon, could we just postpone getting on with our annulment for a while? It is always better to tell Northern lords that I can’t marry any of them for legal reasons instead of just rejecting them one by one.”

Tyrion chuckled, “I can see you are very careful in your diplomatic relations, your grace. But what about your heir? Don’t you intend to produce one, eventually?”

“I don’t think I have to,” Sansa shook her head, “I can always adopt a child, the North is full of orphans after the War. What about you, my lord?”

“Well, theoretically I could legitimise one of my bastards.” Tyrion grinned. As expected, Sansa was surprised.

“You have bastards!?” 

“That's the problem. I don’t.” Tyrion replied, gravely, and Sansa laughed.

(He felt most satisfied. Another laugh of hers won.)

“At least, not that I know of,” he specified, “but that probably means that I just don’t.” She raised her eyebrow at him, so he explained: “Any whore who would give birth to my child would be happy to get rid of it and make some money for herself by knocking on my door and presenting me with our offspring. I would have taken care of the child and payed the mother as well, they all knew I can be generous. However,” he added bitterly,“it seems that no wealth was worth risking having a child with the demon monkey, even for most needy whores.”

(Sansa suddenly felt sad. She didn't know what to say. He curled his lips in sarcastic way and instantly she was reminded of that mocking expression he had when he raised his cup on their wedding night, saying "and so my watch begins". She felt guilty and said nothing.)

“So, no.” Tyrion continued, casually, “I believe that I have not sired any bastard, in spite of countless occasions.”He took a sip of his ale, not looking at Sansa at this point. “Whores know their moon tea and usually do not end up with child if they do not wish to.”

Sansa felt she should say something, but she did not know what. Finally, she remarked cautiously “I heard king Robert had some bastards in whorehouses as well.”

“True,” Tyrion confirmed, “but my guess is that those whores chose to have his babies. Having king's baby can be profitable for any woman.”

They sat in silence for a while, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Finally Tyrion resumed conversation, casually concluding:

“Anyway, only one of them survived, and he is now Gendry Baratheon, lord of Storm’s End. I suppose after a huge war any bastard would do to prevent noble house from being extinct.”

Sansa sighed. “Well, that's another issue. Here in the North we have too many noble houses extinct. The Mormonts, the Karstarks… (Tyrion noticed she did not mention the Boltons. He said nothing, only nodded).

She took another sip of her ale, relaxed a bit against her chair.

“You know,” she said lightly, “sometimes I can't believe that only six years ago I left Winterfell assuming that House Stark is great and strong, and that with so many children it may never face extinction. And then it went so fast: Father, Mother, Robb, Rickon, and even uncle Brynden were suddenly gone. Bran is gone in some way as well, and anyway he will not produce any Stark heirs. I never thought I'd end up alone like this. With Arya away, and Jon being actually a Targaryen, I am almost the last Stark.”

“And most of that because of my family…” Tyrion sighed staring into his cup.

“I don't blame you, Tyrion” Sansa quickly reassured, “besides, Rickon was killed by Ramsay, it had nothing to do with the Lannisters. I am not complaining to you about your family, I guess I was just… sharing the feeling of loneliness. Wolves live in packs, and I feel I've lost mine. And I assumed, I don't know… that of all the people you would understand me.”

“What can I say, Sansa, all of my family is gone and I am responsible for only some of their deaths.” He chuckled dryly, “even though when I first met Daenerys I actually told her I am the biggest Lannister killer.”

Sansa snorted, so he ensured her: “What, it's true! I killed my mother entering the world…”

“That was not your fault.” Sansa interrupted, but Tyrion smirked: “Tell that to my father, he always blamed me. Oh wait, you can't tell him, because I killed him too. With a crossbow.”

“He had it coming.” Sansa said. Tyrion did not comment on that.

“I used to have some cousins,” he continued, casually, “one of them was killed by Jaime when he tried to escape your mother ( _Sansa seemed surprised to hear that_ ), another two young boys were murdered by one of your Northern lords ( _Sansa furrowed her brow. She suddenly thought that perhaps the Lannisters had their own reasons to hate the North_ ). The last one, Lancel, along with his father, my uncle Kevan, died in the Great Sept when Cersei demolished it. She blamed me for that too, by the way, as well as for the death of all three of her children.”

“How could she have blamed you!?” Sansa exclaimed, “You were out of Westeros when Myrcella and Tommen died!”

“True.” Tyrion said calmly, “But she said that none of that would occur if I did not kill our father. She assumed I killed Joffrey; it was also my idea to ship Myrcella to Dorne, and Ellaria Sand killed her as a revenge for Oberyn's death, who died fighting for me, so that is how Myrcella's death comes back to me as well. And Tommen's suicide was - according to my sister - the effect of a dissolution of our family, which I started by killing father.”

“That is convenient and very Cersei-like: to blame everybody else and to avoid any responsibility.” Sansa said bitterly and with a hint of anger. Tyrion looked at her, concerned, as she continued, staring into her cup with some kind of contempt. “I learned a lot from your sister, but I never respected her. It was all her doing. She claimed she loved her children, but she killed Tommen's wife and drove her own son to commit suicide. It was not your fault, Tyrion.. It was only hers.”

A hint of warm smile appeared at Tyrion's face. He was comforted by Sansa's reassuring, but most of all he was happy to see her dropping her icy mask in his presence, even if just a bit. If only by showing some anger, Sansa finally stopped being a courteous lady and a cold queen when they talked alone. He always felt there was passion and fire beneath her walls. Now it made him strangely happy that she felt enough at ease with him to let him see some of her true self. And that hint of anger she revealed was actually related to the talk about how he was mistreated by his sister.

“I used to think her love of her children was her redeeming quality.” He finally said, slowly, “That is why I misjudged her intentions. I knew she was which another Jaime's child. You were right, it was foolish of me.”

He didn't have to explain further - Sansa immediately understood that now he was referring to their conversation from before the Long Night.

“I… was a bit harsh to you back then.” She murmured.

“I must admit, no-one ever insulted me with highest praise like you did, your grace.” Tyrion chuckled, but somehow bitterly. “And I don't think I'll ever recover.” he added dramatically, half-mocking but half-serious.

Sansa looked at him suddenly with a genuine concern. “Don't say that, it was cruel of me. And in fact I do think you still _are_ cleverest man alive. Even the cleverest men make mistakes, though.”

Tyrion smiled, relaxing. She didn't actually apologise, but it went unsaid. That was all he needed.

“I made many, but the more I think of it, I actually gave Daenerys a very good advice at the beginning. Shame she did not listen.”

Sansa’s brow furrowed, “What was that?”

“I told her she should stay in Essos. Focus on abolishing slavery, build a better world over there. She could have had her own empire, rule over thousands of people who actually loved her. She could have been one of the greatest monarchs of our times - but she chose to invade Westeros against that advice.”

Sansa looked at Tyrion thoughtfully. “That was indeed a very good advice.” She admitted.

“Well, Thank you! And, you know,” Tyrion continued, more to himself than to her at this point, “she was so good in putting idealistic arguments, how she was going to break the wheel, to free people, to care for children. Yes, I saw some signals of her madness; I tried to talk her out of burning the Tarlys, for example - and she refused to listen. But I still believed her priorities were good, I believed she cared about the innocents.”

Tyrion looked up at Sansa and saw reassuring warmness in her gaze. She nodded with understanding and he sighed in sudden relief. Apparently, she did not judge him, that's what mattered. “So, there you go. I misjudged Daenerys and I misjudged Cersei, assuming they would both behave nobly when children's lives are at stake. Jaimie did the same, by the way - he came back to Cersei and tried to save her only because he wanted to save the unborn child. I freed him and they died together in the most stupid way. I blame myself for that too.”

“Again, Tyrion, it was not your fault.” Sansa said, but matter-of-factly, as if her mind were already on something else. “Tell me again,” she then said, carefully, “do you know for sure that Jaime went back to Cersei because of the child, and not for her?”

“I think so, yes.” Tyrion sighed, “I am not sure, of course, but Cersei sent Bronn to kill Jaime and he knew that. Besides, I think he cared a lot about ser Brienne. In fact, I hoped he might start a new life, get himself free of our toxic sister. But then there was a new child - and Jaime already lost all of his children earlier. Their children. Joffrey was a psychopath, but Myrcella and Tommen were good kids. I miss them too. I don't blame him for hoping there was one more chance for him to have a family. I kind of hoped to have a good new niece or nephew myself.”

“Well,” Sansa said cautiously, looking at Tyrion, “but in a way… you do now. And it is also a new child of your brother, even though he didn't live to see it.”

“What are you talking about?” Tyrion felt completely dumbfounded.

“You didn't know? Ser Brienne gave birth to a son, a few moons ago, in Tarth. She decided to visit her father when she discovered she was pregnant and stayed at her family home until the birth. Now she decided both her and the babe are strong enough to travel, so we expect them here in Winterfell any day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Braime baby is coming! \o/
> 
> Also, dark ale is so *Northern*, isn't it? I have recently discovered a new smoked beer from local brewery (and it smells like bacon, and it is delicious!) 
> 
> Thank you all for being here :*


	5. The Future of House Lannister

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your comments and kudos! <3  
> Here we go: introducing Braime baby. :)

Tyrion was terribly nervous for the next few days, although he did his best to cover it up. He also tried to distract himself, so he tried to focus on any activity: going through ledgers, talking to masons and smiths, as if rebuilding Winterfell and wealth of the North were actually in his personal interest. He was away on some business in Wintertown when Brienne arrived.

Sansa saw his distress and really wanted to help him. She was also aware that most likely Brienne would feel awkward showing her babe to Tyrion for the first time. The queen sensed that her presence at this meeting may be appreciated by both parties. So, that afternoon, when Tyrion came back to the keep, she gently informed him that Brienne arrived, and proposed that they should visit Lady Knight together. Tyrion accepted her offer with a visible relief.

Brienne was waiting for them in her chamber, sitting in a chair near hearth, with her son asleep in her arms. Tyrion greeted her with strangled voice: “Ser Brienne, it’s good to see you again.”

“You too, my lord.” She replied.

When Tyrion approached her slowly, reverently, she adjusted position of an infant in her arms, so he could see the boy’s face.

“Gods, it’s Jaime.” That was all Tyrion managed to cough up.

“Yes.” Brienne replied calmly, her voice wary. “That is indeed his name.”

Tyrion looked up at her in surprise. “That’s not what I meant.. I mean… yes, wonderful. It is very nice of you that you named your son after his deceased father.”

At that Brienne relaxed a bit. Apparently Tyrion had no doubts about who fathered her son, and that made her feel a little better. Giving birth out of wedlock was humiliating enough, and she was paralysed by the thought that people would think her a slut, who perhaps slept with various men.

Apparently, that was not the case. 

Lord Tyrion took a deep breath. It seemed that he needed a moment to gain his courage, and then he asked, tentatively: “Jaime… Snow? Or is it Jaime Storm?”

“Jaime of Tarth.” Brienne replied, with emphasis. “He is a bastard, that’s true, but as a knight I have the right to acknowledge him as my trueborn son and to give him my name.”

“I see.” Tyrion nodded. “Could I… hold him?”

Brienne looked at Tyrion cautiously, and decided to be kind. She passed the babe to Tyrion.

“Hello, little one.” Tyrion smiled to the sleeping infant. Sansa suddenly realised that she never saw a man looking so natural with a baby in his arms. _He would be a great father_ \- she thought, and immediately chased the thought away.

Brienne was anyway uncomfortable, and Tyrion sensed it. With a resigned sigh, he gave her back the baby. Then he looked at her somehow tenderly. He took a deep breath, as if he had something important to say. And then he said it.

“Ser Brienne, I congratulate you on having a beautiful baby boy. I am terribly sorry my brother did not live to meet his son.”

Brienne raised her eyebrow. _If he didn’t leave me, he would be here, alive_ \- went unsaid. Tyrion only nodded. She knew he understood. He took a deep breath again and resumed his somehow formal speech.

“I believe that if my brother lived, he would have married you and acknowledged the child as his trueborn son.” At that, Brienne’s brow frowned. Tyrion continued, “But now I am the last Lannister and as the head of my house I can only propose to do that myself.”

“What?” Sansa spat.

“What?” Brienne repeated, and then clarified, indignant, “are you suggesting you would like to acknowledge Jaime as _your_ trueborn son?”

Lady knight was obviously scandalised by the insinuation.

“Gods, no!” Tyrion chuckled, “no-one would believe that. And I would not harm poor boy like this. Not only would he be mocked for having a dwarf father, just think of all the dirty jokes on his parents, regarding our statures. No, I would not like to be mocked myself on any insinuation of standing foreplay, thank you very much.” At that, Brienne blushed furiously, and Sansa felt irritated, as she did not get what Tyrion was referring to. It was something improper, that she got out of context, but what exactly did he mean?

Tyrion waved his hand dismissively, “So no, Ser Brienne, I would not harm your reputation by implying you could ever have anything to do with an Imp like myself. What I meant was that as the head of House Lannister I could officially acknowledge little Jaimie as a posthumous son of my late brother. Give the boy Lannister name… and Casterly Rock.”

“What!?” This time Sansa and Brienne exclaimed in unison.

Tyrion sighed and explained, patiently, “My elder brother was my father’s heir. Theoretically he gave up his claim when he joined the Kingsguard. But then he took a vow to never marry _or_ father children. He broke that vow, he sired this child, and as I said, I am pretty certain he would marry you now if he lived. That would give him back his claim to inherit Casterly Rock. After his death his son would become the next Lord of the Rock, not me - and that son is little Jaime here.”

“But….” Brienne was confused, “why do you want to give up everything for this little bastard…? Lannister legacy, lands, title, gold…?”

Tyrion sighed again, sadly, “Make no mistake, Ser Brienne, I am not offering a legendary wealth, because it is not there anymore. The gold mines dried out years ago. Westerlands are rather damaged after the war. For now it is just one of the castles - famous, yes, and with lots of quite fertile land, but ruling there is not going to be that easy anymore. Lannisters are no longer shitting gold.”

At that Brienne smirked. “I didn’t notice Ser Jaime ever did. And I actually saw him sitting in his own shit when he was a prisoner.”

Tyrion chuckled. “You see, you know us Lannisters better than you want to admit.”

Brienne turned all serious. “Forgive me, my lord,”she said slowly, “it is a very generous offer. But it seems a bit hasty. You saw the child, your emotions took over you. This little boy will not be able to be a lord of anything for at least next 15 years. By that time you will regret your offer, you’ll want to take back your ancestral home for yourself. Or perhaps you’ll get married and have your own children, and you would want to pass Casterly Rock to them.”

(At that Sansa suddenly felt a pang of irritation. Why would that bother her that Tyrion could remarry and have children? She decided to push that thought away, too.)

Tyrion shook his head. “No, it is not that easy. You are a wise woman, my lady, my ser” he admitted, “and normally I’d say you should be right. But not in this case. I have appointed Addam Marbrand a temporary warden of Casterly Rock, but to be honest, I do not think I could ever go back there to claim it myself. You know very well what happened: I killed my father, then I came back to Westeros with an army that sacked Casterly Rock. Lords of Westerlands just hate me, and I could never rule that land. I’d probably end up assassinated sooner rather than later. And I do not think it would be any safer for any hypothetical children of mine.”

Tyrion approached Brienne, placed his palm on her arm, looked her in the eyes.

“Take your time, my lady, do not decide now. I simply propose to give Jaime his father’s name and eventually his father’s heritage. To be honest I am aware that it will not be an easy task, to claim Casterly Rock and gain respect as a leader of Westerlands, rebuilding infamous Lannister house. I actually believe he should be a few years older than 15 before he’s up to the task. But anyway, I believe that it is truly the future of House Lannister sleeping in your arms right now. Just think about it.”

Brienne looked at him thoughtfully. And then said, slowly, “And… assuming that I would accept your offer…what do you want in return, my lord?”

Tyrion shook his head again, and replied with a small voice, almost whispering “Nothing. I want nothing. Lannister always pays his debts.”

“It is not your debt, my lord.”

“It is now. It is my brother's debt, and now it is mine.” He looked up at her. “Ser Brienne, of all the people in the world, you are the only one who could understand this. I don’t want to sound melodramatic, but I believe that the two of us are the only people that ever truly loved him. Cercei’s twisted affection was no love, not really. Father only saw him as impersonation of his own ambitions, never really accepting Jaime for who he was. Jaime's own children considered him just an uncle. Apart from you and me no-one _actually_ cared for Jaime himself. And that is what bonds us together.”

(And what was this peculiar feeling of a lump forming in Sansa’s throat? Her fists clenched involuntarily. She refused to recognise it as a jealousy.)

Brienne sighed.

“I will think about it.” She promised.

And then added, “I refuse to believe, though, that you want absolutely nothing, my lord. No offence.”

“None taken,” Tyrion smiled, “as I said, you are a wise woman. I repeat, I _want_ nothing. Although, if you would let me be Jaimie’s uncle, I’d appreciate that.”

Brienne looked at him suspiciously.

“What do you mean: _let_ you be his uncle? You _are_ his uncle, there’s not much I can do about it.”

“Technically, yes,” Tyrion replied, “But I am asking you kindly to let me be a part of his life. I will not corrupt him, I promise.” And after a pause, he added, “he’s the only family I have.”

Brienne nodded. She understood the pain of loneliness.

“As long as you don’t provide him with gifts like an hour in a brothel.”

Tyrion pretended to be offended “My lady, I would never!” And then asked, curiously, “what did Podrick tell you?”

“Why, what? Podrick?” Brienne was genuinely surprised and Tyrion realised he revealed too much. But it was too late. Lady Knight furrowed her brow.

“I apologise,” Tyrion tried, “and truly I promise to be a decent uncle. Lords may corrupt their squires, but I have no intention to act poorly towards my beloved nephew. Back me up, your grace” Tyrion now turned to Sansa, “I may not have seen eye to eye with Joffrey, but I did well with Tommen and Myrcella, didn’t I?”

“Oh, I think you were an excellent uncle, my lord, _especially_ to Joffrey.” Sansa replied. For some reason she was irritated with this whole situation, as if sudden connection between Brienne and Tyrion was some kind of threat for her. “If only other members of your family were brave enough to scold him as you did, he may not have grown up to be such an ass.”

She meant it as irony, but then she realised it was actually true. Tyrion looked at her with some strange mixture of surprise and gratitude. And surprisingly, even Brienne suddenly laughed.

“Well then,” she concluded, “perhaps I should get to know you better, my lord. I’ll let you know when I’m in a mood for another drinking-truth-game. At least now you will not accuse me of being a virgin.”

“Gods, I am so sorry for that!” Tyrion laughed, and once again Sansa felt left out, not knowing what they were talking about. Apparently Tyrion and Brienne had some history together. _But why would that annoy her?_

Little Jaime woke up and started to cry.

“I think it’s time for me to feed him.” Brienne said.

And just like that, their visit was over. Tyrion and Sansa left, both lost in their own thoughts.

—

It turned out that Jaime was not an easy child. He was fussy, he needed a lot of attention, and that did not agree well with Brienne’s character. She often felt irritated, she found herself lacking patience sometimes. All together she was eager to get back to her duties as Sansa’s commander-in-chief. She hired a nanny for Jaime, but unfortunately the boy did not seem to be very fond of her.

One day when Tyrion walked through a corridor on his way from his chamber to the library, he heard Jaime crying, and a muffled voice of the nanny. He was alone, Sansa dealing with some petitioners in the Great Hall. Brienne was out too, supervising some works in the armoury. Tyrion approached the door of the nursery room, concerned about the sound of nanny’s voice - as if she was very irritated. He cracked the door cautiously and eavesdropped.

“Will you just shut up already!” The nanny hissed, “you little shit, I don’t know what I’d do with you! You bloody bastard, who knows who actually fathered you? They say it was the Kingslayer, but perhaps you are actually a wicked offspring of the imp? Shut your little mouth, already, I have no more patience for you.”

And just then, when Tyrion was ready to interfere, it got even worse: he heard a slap, and baby’s crying got louder. Tyrion stormed into the chamber, with a loud thud of the doors.

“Have you just hit my nephew?” He asked with strangled voice, full of anger.

“I did no such thing, m’lord!” The nanny lied immediately. But Tyrion approached her with determination. “Give me my nephew,” he said slowly, trying to control himself, “step away from the child, you will never touch him again.“

Nanny’s gaze hardened. “You have no authority to sack me, m’lord.” She said, holding crying baby close, “I am a subject of queen Sansa, and I have been hired by Lady Brienne. It is not your place to decide about my position.”

“No, indeed,” Tyrion nodded, getting closer, determined to take Jaime from her, “but as I heard you saying, you are aware that this boy is my brother’s son. You even suggested that I may have fathered Jaime, if I understood correctly. Therefore, as the boy’s uncle or perhaps even his father I have all the rights to decide about whoever takes care of him. Now I will not repeat it again: give. Me. My nephew.”

Nanny narrowed her eyes at the dwarf and decided to oblige. Interestingly, the moment she passed the baby to Tyrion, little Jaime stopped crying.

Tyrion looked at the boy fondly, shushed him tenderly. Then, not looking up at nanny again, never braking his gaze from the baby in his arms, he said firmly “I suggest you pack your things and disappear. You will not collect this month’s wages and you will not get references. But if you disappear fast enough you may save yourself some flogging you deserve for disrespecting little lord Lannister.”

The nanny burst into tears, but she took his advice and ran away from the chamber.

“There you go, sweetheart, she will never bother you again. Cried so hard to get rid of her, didn’t you? Ah, but you are a golden boy, who always must have everything his way, just like your father.” Tyrion cooed. He tickled the baby under chin and Jaime laughed. “There, there, all right now, yes?” Tyrion placed a kiss on boy’s forehead. “Come on, sweetheart, you’re staying with your uncle today.”

Some time later Brienne entered the nursery and was very surprised to see lord Tyrion Lannister sitting in the armchair by the hearth, Jaime on his lap. The boy was not asleep, but he was not fussing. Tyrion had a ledger opened on a small table by his side, and talked to Jaime with a soft, soothing voice. It sounded as if he was telling him a fairy tale, except that… he was actually reading about lumber prices from that ledger.

Brienne could not stop herself from laughing, “what is going on here, my lord? Where’s the nanny?”

Tyrion raised his head, looked at her and smiled. “Ah, the nanny proved to be incompetent so I fired her.” Brienne raised her brow in surprise. But deep down she felt relieved: she did not know why, but she did not entirely trust that woman. But Jaime was somehow difficult child, and Brienne wasn’t sure she would handle him entirely by herself.

“He scared away three nannies already.” She whispered, approaching Tyrion. Involuntary smile crept into her face, though, when she got close to her son. She looked at the babe, and then at Tyrion. “How do you do that?” She asked, suspiciously, “he’s not fussing.”

“He’s not.” Tyrion confirmed, chuckling, “apparently no northern nanny is good enough for him. Perhaps he needs a southern one?”

“And dressed in gold, I suppose.” Brienne smirked.

“Well,” Tyrion laughed, “He’s a Lannister through and through. And so much like his father: a drama queen as well as an attention whore.” There was so much tenderness in Tyrion’s voice, Brienne could swear that those were actually highest praises.

“Brienne, I’ll help you out in finding a new nanny, and in meantime I’m happy to look after Jaime myself.” Tyrion finally said. He looked at Brienne hopefully. The lady knight nodded, and Tyrion relaxed.

After Tyrion left Brienne with little Jaime, he found Pod and gave the young man specific instructions. The nanny’s attitude was to be properly acknowledged; Tyrion wanted to make sure her reputation was ruined throughout the whole North, so she would never get a job with any children, ever again. Pod was happy to spread the rumours and to distribute the information, especially among young female servants of the keep and beyond.

—

The next day Brienne approached Tyrion, and said, solemnly: “My lord, I have been thinking a lot about your offer. I decided to accept your proposal of acknowledging Jaime as a Lannister, a true born son of your late brother.”

Tyrion felt his throat tightening with emotions.

“Thank you, ser Brienne.” - he only managed to whisper.

—

Tyrion wrote many letters on regular basis. He corresponded with Davos, enjoying Onion Knight’s short but witty messages, written in clumsy script (he so admired the man for learning how to read and write at his age). He kept correspondence with Addam Marbrand about Casterly Rock. From time to time he exchanged letters with Sam Tarly. And, of course, he wrote regularly to Bran. Not that it was needed - the Three Eyed Raven certainly knew everything. But Tyrion thought that it was a good idea to report on his work in the North nonetheless, just for the record. Also, he had a feeling that the boy enjoyed receiving a word from him from time to time.

But now it’s been some time since he wrote to his king. After receiving a letter about the legal status of his marriage Tyrion was a bit irritated; but when Sansa told him about Brienne’s baby, he got utterly pissed off. There was no way Bran did not know, yet he never mentioned anything. Tyrion suspected that Bran had his reasons, but anyway, he felt hurt.

Now Tyrion Lannister sat down and forced himself to write a very formal message to king Bran Stark. Expressing his will to legitimise Jaime as a Lannister and heir to Casterly Rock.

The reply came rather quickly, in form of two scrolls rolled together. One was an official royal decree confirming that Jaime, the newborn son of Brienne of Tarth, is officially acknowledged as as a trueborn son of late ser Jaime Lannister, son of Tywin Lannister, and therefore is an heir to Casterly Rock. The other scroll contained a very short message:

_I apologise, my Lord Hand, for not informing you sooner that you would have a nephew. I didn’t think it was my place to tell you, since ser Brienne did not decide to reveal her pregnancy when she was still here in King’s Landing. Besides, I did not want to tell you about the child that was only about to be born - you never know how the labour goes. Anyway, if I may say this now: I am very happy that ser Brienne and Jaime are well. And I am happy for you, my lord. B._

Tyrion sighed, and smiled. He couldn’t stay angry at this boy-king for long, anyway. And right now he felt strangely lightly in his chest. Almost as if he were… happy? Something close to it, at least. And that was a sensation Tyrion Lannister never expected to experience again.

He wrote a short message to his king: _Thank you, your grace._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion/Sansa interaction (that is: talking, for now, still) will be back next chapter ;) All together it turned out to be slower burn than I thought, but hey, at least I am not updating once a year, right? ;)


	6. Facing the past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here goes some more of Sanrion talking ;)  
> (I soooo should not post it now, almost at midnight on Friday, after such a busy week.... but well. If there are terrible linguistic mistakes, let me know)

It took Tyrion a whole month to finally get himself to visit the Winterfell crypts. He wasn’t sure why - he wasn’t exactly repelled by the memories of the Long Night. Of course, the experience was not exactly pleasant, and the dead rising from the tombs were literally like the worst nightmare coming true…. But he survived, and so did Sansa, as well as many others. He usually did not have a problem about coming back to the places where something bad happened, as long as it was in the past.

But this was somehow… different.

Perhaps, after all, it was too much for his rational mind: some part of it still refused to believe in the living dead.

But also, of all his near-death experiences (and he was close to being killed so many times that he actually lost count) this one was for some reason the most powerful one. In no other circumstances he truly accepted his fate, but this particular experience made him believe this was his end. And because of that he felt surprisingly brave. He decided to let go all the unexplained grudges - but also he felt no words were needed. He just looked Sansa in the eyes, and for the longest moment he let his gaze express everything. Support. Admiration. Tenderness.

She seemed panicked, at first, but then she relaxed. As if he managed to calm her down. Then she gave him the strength. And so they went to fight the dead, together.

Anyway, he finally got over it, now. He visited the crypts.

He walked slowly, contemplating the effigies. Sansa had all the bodies burned, but then the urns were put back into the repaired tombs. Not everyone had an actual statue, but there were inscriptions on all the burials. He stopped for a moment by the brand new plate commemorating Theon Greyjoy.

And just out of nowhere, Sansa suddenly joined him.

“My lord,” she said, softly, “I did not expect to meet you here. I come every other day, I don’t really know why.”

Tyrion did not reply at first. Then made a vague gesture. “To be honest, I am not sure myself what brought me here today. I guess everyone needs to face difficult memories, once in a while.”

They stayed there in silence, for a moment.

Sansa realised she felt surprisingly comfortable with him, here.

Back then as well as now.

And she waited for Tyrion to break the silence. He was never able to stay quiet for too long. It was almost _amusing_ to hear him taking a breath, and so: “my lady,” he said, as she expected, “I can see you cleaned up here nicely.”

Sansa snorted. “That’s one way to put it.”

“I have not seen Mormonts’ grave.” he remarked.

“Indeed, it is not here. I’ve sent the ashes of ser Jorah and lady Lyanna to the Bear Island.”

“But… you did not send Theon’s ashes to Iron Islands?”

“No.” Sansa replied, calmly. “Theon Greyjoy belongs to Winterfell.”

Tyrion’s brow furrowed. He had some hard time understanding the bond Sansa created with Theon. When he met the Ironborn boy here in Winterfell, Theon seemed to be rather a foster brother of the Starks than their hostage, really. But Tyrion and Theon always had bad timing. When they first talked, Tyrion was pissed because young Robb was condescending towards him and Tyrion felt anxious about the absence of lady Catelyn. So he let himself act rather rude towards Theon, provoking young man into insulting him. Later, when they met again in Dragonstone, Tyrion was angry at Theon, assuming that Greyjoy killed both Bran and Rickon. Because of that anger Tyrion actually attacked Theon; and was surprised to see how meekly the Ironborn replied. They met one more time in Winterfell, where Theon was surprisingly warmly welcomed by Sansa, and kindly accepted by Bran to join him in the godswood.

And then Tyrion saw how Sansa cried over Theon’s body. How she mourned him.

So now, Tyrion gathered his courage.

“Did you love him?” He asked with strangled voice.

“Yes.” Sansa replied, calmly. “Like a brother.”

“Like a brother.” Tyrion repeated, doubt in his voice.

He looked at Sansa, sceptically. But she held his gaze, her eyes sincere.

“Yes, my lord. My relationship with Theon was… complicated. When I was a girl, I think I considered him mostly as a friend of Robb and Jon. I adored Robb, and I did not care for Jon… and Theon was somehow in-between.

Then I was grateful to hear Theon fought by Robb’s side. And then I hated Theon because he sacked Winterfell. I thought he killed Bran and Rickon, and I really wanted him dead.

We met again when I came here with Littlefinger. Theon was Ramsay’s servant, called himself Reek. It took me some time to learn that Theon was not the man he used to be. Rather an empty shell… Ramsay castrated him.”

Tyrion gasped, “That’s a vivid metaphor, your grace. But I agree, Theon somehow lost his character; when he arrived in Dragonstone he did not seem to be like his former self.”

Sansa looked at Tyrion, thoughtfully. “It is not a metaphor, my lord.” She stressed. “Ramsay literally castrated Theon. Cut off his manhood, that is.”

Tyrion suddenly felt nauseated. He looked at Sansa with widened eyes. Then quickly turned his gaze away.

If he felt - on some level - _jealous_ of Theon before, that feeling was most certainly gone.

He pitied the boy, of course, but most of all the was terrified to learn about Bolton bastard’s cruelty. Seven hells, who actually _castrates_ people? Tyrion really, really tried not to think what such a monster could have done to Sansa. And he was determined not to seek for this knowledge behind her back, however tempting that was.

“I… think I need some fresh air,” Tyrion finally murmured, “would you excuse me, your grace?”

Sansa nodded, so he quickly left the crypts.

—

Tyrion did not show up at the evening meal. Sansa ordered a tray of snacks for him, and a jug of a good dark ale. She took all of that to his chambers by herself.

Knocked the door. Entered, when she heard “come in.”

Tyrion was surprised to see the queen; even more so when he realised she brought him food and drink, herself.

“I am sorry to interrupt, my lord. I just wanted to make sure you ate something. If you do not wish to see me, I’ll go.”

Tyrion looked at her with sorrowful expression. “No, please, come in, your grace. I am sorry I did not come to eat with all of you. Please stay.”

Sansa nodded, put the tray on the table.

Without asking him, she took two cups and poured ale to both of them. She passed one cup to Tyrion and sat in the spare chair. Tyrion stood up when she came in; before he was sitting by the hearth, open book at his lap.

Now he sat back again, putting book down on a small cabinet. He nipped on the snacks she brought him.

“Once again, I apologise for not showing up. To be honest, I did not do it on purpose, I simply lost a track of time, reading.”

Sansa felt a mixture of relief and irritation: she was relieved to learn that Tyrion did not exactly avoid her after their talk in the crypts, but she was irritated that she acted like some mother hen, bringing him that tray. He was an adult, he could take care of himself, he didn’t need her attention. But lately she felt her ice walls were cracking for some reason, especially around Tyrion. Bringing him that tray and checking on him was a strange impulse she followed, and suddenly she was reminded of a very similar one from the past: the one that made her cover him up when he fell asleep on a settee during their wedding night.

Her brow furrowed, and to distract herself she sipped some ale and asked, trying to keep her voice neutral: “so what have you been reading, my lord?”

Tyrion smiled to her. “History of House Stark before Targaryan conquest. Apparently visit in the crypts inspired me.”

And then he asked, cautiously: “is there any book on more recent events of the members of Stark family?”

Sansa shook her head. “No, my lord. No book on glorious deaths of the Starks. Not that I know of.”

“You should have it written.” Tyrion mused, “and not all of the Starks are dead.”

“Well, it would start with the murder of Rickard Stark by the Mad King, then it would have to tell about Robert’s Rebellion and everything that happened after. A memorial to perished Eddard Stark, king Robb and little prince Rickon.” She sighed, sadly, and then added, with a small voice, “Perhaps I will have it written down one day. For a start I would like to commemorate them in the crypts. Father’s effigy is there, but I still need to have another made, for Robb at least. He was the King in the North, after all. Even if his body never came back here.”

“I am so sorry, Sansa,” Tyrion whispered, “If it were in my power I would at least send your brothers bones back here, just as I ordered your father’s bones to be returned to your mother.”

“It was your doing?” Sansa felt a wave of gratitude flowing over her chest. And suddenly her irritation over acting with unnecessary care towards him subsided. “How… generous of you.”

Tyrion shook his head. “Sansa, I am not honourable man.”

“You are more honourable than I am,”she answered calmly. Tyrion narrowed his eyes at her, so she clarified, “I don’t remember you breaking your word, for example.” “

Well, yes, I try to stick to my promises and to pay my debts. But I am good at lying if necessary. Your father would never approve.”

Sansa sighed. “My father would never approve of me, I’m afraid. I took great many lessons from Cersei and Baelish. Jon is as honourable as father was, and I lied to Jon about the support from Vale before we took back Winterfell. And I gave him my word that I would keep a secret about his ancestry and then I told you anyway. Neither of my parents would do that.”

“Yes…” Tyrion nodded slowly “I suppose not. But they are both dead, and you survived.” And then he added: “You are a good ruler, Sansa, and you are not particularly dishonourable. You are political, sometimes plotting and strategising is simply necessary. I admired your ability to lie already when you kept going ‘I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey’.” Seeing her distress, he tried to lighten the mood: “Although if I may advise you, your grace, I’d say that it is in your best interest to never deceive the Hand of King Bran, who is your ally as well as your brother.”

Sansa smirked “How can I be sure that his Hand is not lying to me?”

“Oh, you can be sure of that.” Tyrion looked at her suddenly serious. “But,“ he went impish again - “we may plot together and play well some of your most stubborn Northern Lords.” Sansa chortled. After a moment Tyrion added seriously, looking her in the eyes: “I never lied to you, Sansa.”

She looked at him as well, and suddenly she was surprised realising: “you know, Tyrion, now that I think of it, I actually lied to you only once. That time when you saved me in the throne room and asked me if I wanted my betrothal ended. I did not trust you then, and anyway, you knew I was lying.”

Tyrion nodded, and Sansa continued “but after that, I never lied to you again.”

“You grace, I hope you never have to”, he bowed, “and as for sending back the bones of your father: I simply wanted to make peace with your mother.” Tyrion replied. And then added, softly, “I told you once that I admired her, even though she wanted me dead. She was a strong woman, and so are you.”

“Many people have been telling me I am very much like my lady mother, but that is not true,” Sansa shook her head. “She was a loving woman, and I am an ice cold queen. I could never love _anyone_ the way she loved all of us.”

“I refuse to believe that.” Tyrion said. “Life threw you into terrible circumstances and you fought to survive, surrounded by people like Cersei, Joffrey, or Petyr Baelish. It is obvious you must have built some defensive walls, but I am pretty certain you are capable of loving.”

After a minute of silence, Sansa replied: “Perhaps I am capable, but I don’t think I ever dare.”

And then, she continued, partly to Tyrion but partly to herself: “That is a very sad conclusion: to be afraid of loving, isn’t it? Your sister once told me I should love no-one but my children, otherwise I would be weak. I’m not going to have children, so I guess I should never love anyone madly. I do have affection for my surviving siblings, of course, but even _that_ I try to keep at bay.”

“Oh, come on,” Tyrion waved his hand, “Don’t tell me you suddenly think my sister is the one to follow.”

“No, but I did learn a lot from her.” Sansa sighed, “and I think there’s more behind my…cautious attitude… than just her words. I have realised that whenever I care for someone, whenever I let my walls go down even a little bit, I always end up with broken heart, and not because people I loved hurt me, but because they just died. It is as if anyone I ever loved was doomed. You see, when I was a child, I never cared for Arya and I was terrible to Jon. And for some reason _they_ are the only ones that survived.”

“There’s Bran.” Tyrion whispered.

“Is there?” Sansa looked at him sadly, “Is there still my cheeky little brother inside the Three-Eyed-Raven?”

“I believe there is.” Tyrion confirmed, thoughtfully.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that.” Sansa nodded, “But still, he’s away and he’s not coming back. You know that I believe it is a brave thing to look truth in the face. The truth is that all the people I ever really loved are more or less gone.”

“I thought the same until very recently,” Tyrion tried, “but suddenly there’s little Jaime. And I know he’s just a babe now, but I already love him with all my old wretched heart.”

Sansa smiled softly, and then sighed again. “To be completely honest with you, I envy that… I envy both you and Brienne. Yes, I know, her heart has been broken, but at least she knew a true love of a man, and now she has his child to love.”

“You are still very young, Sansa.” Tyrion murmured, concerned, “Don’t assume you won’t ever love any man again.”

“I never did, in fact, so there’s no ‘again’ for me. Perhaps I am just too cold, after all. Have _you_ ever been in love, my lord?”

Tyrion sipped his ale. “I have. A couple of times. It never ended well. But for that kind of conversation I would need wine, not ale.”

Sansa chuckled, a little bitterly. “Very well, my lord. But tonight we only have ale.” He reached for the jug and refilled their cups.

“I noticed, by the way, that you don’t hate wine anymore.” Tyrion said, casually. He did not want to end their conversation, but he wanted to redirect it towards lighter subjects. Sansa visibly relaxed against her chair. “I learned to drink it during my stay in the Vale. My crazy aunt Lysa was difficult to bear entirely sober.”

“I bet she was!” Tyrion laughed and Sansa chuckled, too.

“She was mentally unstable, that is certain. One moment she was sweet to me and fed me with cakes, and a minute later she called me Petyr’s whore, accusing me of being pregnant with his child. She never believed I was still a virgin back then. Then she decided to marry me to my cousin Robin… I must say, even after she died I felt awkward there in the Eyrie and I was rather happy to leave that place.”

“I’ve heard that it turned out she was the one who poisoned Jon Arryn.” Tyrion remarked.

“Yes, she killed her own husband for Littlefinger and blamed it on the Lannisters. In the end it was Petyr who ended her life, although, as I told you before, I swore to all the lords of the Vale that my aunt committed suicide.” Sansa shrugged, and then felt a need to change the subject. “What about you, my lord? I bet you had a lot of adventures when you came to the service of the Dragon Queen.”

Tyrion grinned. 

“Oh, your grace, I had a lot of adventures before I even met Daenerys.” He sat back comfortably and started his story: “I have been smuggled by Varys across the Narrow Sea in a crate - it was a wooden box and I was closed inside for the entire journey. One thing I am sure of now, not only because what I’ve seen during the Long Night, is that I want to be burned after I’m dead. No lying in a coffin, thank you very much.”

Sansa’s eyes widened. “How did you…. breathe?”

“The box had air-holes. Also, Varys passed me food and drink that way.”

Sansa wrinkled her nose. “But if you ate and drunk… you had to…” She bit her lip and waved her hand down towards ner abdomen.

“Yep.”Tyrion chuckled, “as I said, the box had air-holes.”

Sansa’s mouth twisted in mock disgust, then she sipped from her cup.

“So,” Tyrion resumed his story, “Varys released me when we arrived to Pentos. We stayed at his friend’s place for a while and then he convinced me to look for Daenerys. So we moved to Volantis, but there ser Jorah Mormont kidnapped me in a brothel.”

He made a dramatic pause, sipped his ale.

Sansa’s eyes widened. Then she smirked and murmured, “I am not sure I want to know how exactly that happened… but ser Jorah Mormont did not seem to have been the type keen to involve into some pervert adventures.”

“Not at all,” Tyrion laughed, “He just followed me when I went out to take a piss and simply tied me up and took away. I am not difficult to kidnap for a grown-up man, you know. But at least I must give him that: he was gallant enough to wait until I finished peeing and put my cock back in my breeches. Otherwise it would be awkward, I guess.” Tyrion winked and Sansa barked a laugh into her cup. She really tried to stop herself, because that was most indecent; but she couldn’t.

“Jorah decided to give me to Daenerys as a gift.” Tyrion continued, “He didn’t know I was heading there anyway… I told him it was a waste of a very good kidnapping. But he was not a very amusing travel companion, I must say. No wine, no small talks, just that gloomy northern seriousness. Anyway, we reached ruins of Valyria. Amazing sight, I must say. And right there, surrounded by the ruins of past ancient glory… I saw a dragon for the first time.”

Tyrion paused to drink a little. Also, Sansa saw, he was still amazed by the memory.

Then, he suddenly chuckled. “You wouldn’t believe it, my lady, but we both recited ‘Doom of Valyria’ then.

_They held each other close, and turned their backs upon the end,_

_The hills that split asunder, and the black that ate the skies,_

_The flames that shot so high and hot, that even dragons burned,_

_Would never be the final sights, that fell upon their eyes_.”

Sansa looked at him, astonished. Indeed, she could hardly imagine ser Jorah Mormont reciting a poem in the first place, but now she was mainly enchanted by Tyrion’s performance. The poem rolled vibrantly off his tongue, his deep baritone made her shiver. She suddenly felt she wanted him to read her a whole long poem, one of those chivalric romances that went on for thousands of verses. To cover up her sudden unease, she sipped her ale.

Tyrion resumed his story: “And then suddenly stonemen attacked us. I’ve seen greyscale before, but nothing like that. They were like inhuman creatures, really. And they were aggressive, they tried to touch us and infect us… I escaped, but Jorah got the greyscale, poor man.”

“How come!?” Sansa was truly surprised, “He seemed perfectly fine here in Winterfell!”

“That’s because Samwell Tarly cured him. Sam is a very wise man, you know. And brave. He told me recently all about it, how he peeled off Ser Jorah’s grayscale piece by piece… I will spare you details, because it is a kind of story that can make your dinner reappear. Anyway, I must say, I really admire Sam Tarly. I never knew grayscale was curable. I mean: yes, I’ve heard about Shireen Baratheon, but she was cured as an infant, and the disease was stopped in her case at a very early stage. Meanwhile, Sam said that ser Jorah was half-a-stoneman already.”

Sansa was astonished. She took a sip of her ale. “I’ve never seen a man suffering from grayscale,” she admitted, and then suddenly sighed, as if remembering something.

“What is it, my lady?” Tyrion, of course, had to ask.

Sansa blushed a little, “An embarrassing memory.” She admitted, “I just remembered how one day Margaery told me about a ‘porridge plague’. She made it up, of course, but I was stupid enough to believe her.”

“Porridge plague, my goodness,” Tyrion chuckled, “but she had a splendid imagination, hadn’t she?”

Sansa smiled, “She never meant to be mean to me, that’s why I believed her. I would never believe Arya if she told me something like that - I wasn’t _that_ stupid.” And then, she added mostly to herself, “I miss Margaery.”

Tyrion wasn’t sure what to say, but Sansa quickly changed the subject, asking, “so what happened to you when you escaped stonemen in Valyria?”

“Ah, lot’s of terrible things” Tyrion smiled widely, “Jorah and I were both captured and sold as slaves.”

“What?” Sansa exclaimed, “you became a slave?”

Tyrion poured himself some more ale, “Well, at first they only wanted to take Jorah, to sell him as a fighter to the fighting pits, and I was supposed to be killed at spot, but I managed to survive, because they were after my cock.”

At this point Sansa choked on her ale, much to Tyrion’s amusement. “What?!” she exclaimed again, and he giggled. “Yes, exactly. They wanted to kill me, cut off my cock and sell it, because apparently a dwarf's cock is somehow valuable on the market. I explained them that if they wanted to sell a dwarf's cock, they should have had a dwarf attached to it, because otherwise how would they prove the cock's provenance? It turned out that idiot assumed that as I am a dwarf, my cock must be significantly small, can you believe it?”

Tyrion looked at Sansa amused but was surprised to see her expression: a mixture of embarrassment and doubt. “My lady…” he said warily, “please tell me you did not think my cock is dwarven because that's really humiliating.” “Well…” Sansa was clearly uncomfortable, “you've said it yourself…”

“What?!” this time it was Tyrion who exclaimed, “When would I say such a nonsense?”

“During our wedding feast. You said your manhood is so small that your poor wife won't even know you're there.”

“Oh, shit,” Tyrion laughed, but somehow bitterly, “and you believed that? I was making fool of myself to persuade Joffrey that I am drunk beyond measure, to calm him down after I threaten to castrate him. And mind you, I did that to rescue you from the bedding ceremony.”

“Yes, that was very nice of you.” Sansa said with a small voice.

“I wasn't even as drunk as I pretended,” Tyrion continued “but dear Gods, you thought I was serious?” He looked at Sansa with warmth and somehow with pity. “Poor girl, not only married to a Lannister dwarf, but to a man with a small cock?! No wonder you were so scared and repulsed.”

“Well, to be honest I think I was more abhorred by your tale of how you vomited on some girl during…” she made a vague gesture and Tyrion chuckled, “the small manhood sounded actually like some consolation.” She sighed, “I guess I hoped if it were small it might hurt less.” She looked down into her cup.

Tyrion looked at Sansa with genuine concern; that was just terribly sad. "I am sorry, my lady, that you had to go through all of that. But I meant it when I told you I would never hurt you. Not even with my huge cock.” he added with a wink. Sansa smiled lightly and grabbed his hand. “I know that now,” she said, “thank you.”

They looked into each others' eyes for a moment; it was weird and intimate, so Tyrion panicked and pulled away.“Anyway,” he continued too cheerfully, as if he tried to cover up his unease, “eventually I was sold to the fighting pits as well, as on the market I told everyone that Jorah and I were a team. And in those pits we've met Daenerys. So that is how I ended up alive, and, most importantly, with my cock intact.”

“I’m glad to hear that, my lord.” Sansa replied, relaxing.

—

Later, when she retired to her own chamber for the night, she realised that the talk on Tyrion’s cock somehow disturbed her, or even worse: made her curious. She pushed away those thoughts - she had no intention to muse on anyone’s cock, ever, nor to look at one, for that matter.

Men’s bodies were deadly weapons. They were big and strong, capable of hunting women. She remembered very well the pain of hardened shaft thrusting into her, tearing her apart. She remembered firm grip immobilising her, the weight of other body crushing her.

But Tyrion was a dwarf. He was small and probably not very heavy. His arms were short, most likely he wouldn’t be able to pin a grown woman down and force himself on her.

And even if he could, he would not do such a thing. Sansa felt she got to know Tyrion rather well by now: he was gentle by his nature and so she understood that his decision not to bed her on their wedding night was not only the act of pure kindness towards her. He wouldn’t enjoy it _himself_ , anyway, because he did not like hurting people, especially women and children.

Also, Sansa noticed how delicate his touch was - even when he touched everyday objects, turned a book-page or held a quill. It seemed somehow impossible for those hands of his to grab someone violently, to leave bruises.

Suddenly, Sansa reprimanded herself: it was highly improper and very unladylike to think about a male body in such manner!

_Even if a man in question was technically still her husband._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, all the remarks about Tyrion's voice and his reciting skills should be credited to Peter Dinklage. That also applies to any remarks about Tyrion's hands :P  
> And I know that it goes slow, but look: our girl Sansa is starting to think about his cock! :o


	7. The Hand of the Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention in the notes of previous chapter that I believe that it was Sansa who covered Tyrion when he fell asleep on a settee during their wedding night. :)  
> Now let’s move forward with another chapter. Thank you for being here :*

One of the evenings Tyrion was browsing through the the shelf in Winterfell library looking for a book of some Northern legends to entertain himself before the night, when Sansa entered; she went straight to the shelf of Westerosi history and replaced the book she brought with her with another volume of the same series.

“Good evening, your grace,” Tyrion greeted, “What are you reading, if I may ask?”

Sansa turned around and smiled when she noticed him. “My lord.” she greeted in reply, “I am trying to go through _The History of Seven Kingdoms_ by Maester Daavies.” She sighed discreetly.

“Not enjoying it?” Tyrion smirked, “It is a very good book, although perhaps momentarily… demanding.”

“I was never a patient reader, really. I preferred to listen to my Mother or Septa reading out-laud than to read myself.” Sansa admitted. Tyrion realised that back in King’s Landing he rarely saw her with a book in her hand. She obviously preferred to spent her time on needlework, back then.

“But you read a lot now,” he said, “just as you sew less.”

Sansa shook her head. “I wish I still had more time for my needlework. It used to relax me a lot… alas, I can’t have that luxury now. I feel I ought to spend more time on learning Westerosi history. How am I supposed to be a queen of an independent kingdom without knowledge on my predecessors’ triumphs and mistakes?” She furrowed her brow a little and continued, “I must tell you I think it is terribly unfair that highborn girls and boys receive completely different education. Women are only brought up to be mothers and wives, and ladies of the keep. That is useful, as it involves managing the household, but history of the houses and kings is taught mostly to the boys.”

“Well, recent times proved that it is indeed a very stupid approach.” Tyrion nodded, “I remember how I realised that the world has changed when we had a war council in Dragonstone: queen Daenerys, with her most trusted friend Missandei, planning with her allies: Yara of Iron Islands, Ellaria of Dorne, Olenna of Highgarden. All women, and focusing mainly on how to defeat another woman, that is Cersei. It was as if the world turned upside down, really: women took all, and the only man at that table was a half-man representing much hated House Lannister. Well, Varys, Theon and Grey Worm were there too.” (Suddenly Tyrion realised that back then he was indeed the only person with a cock in that chamber).

“Well,” Sansa replied, “We also now have lady Brienne knighted, and little Lady Lyanna Mormont was one of the heroes of the Long Night. Not mentioning the fact that we all wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Arya.”

“And last but not least, the North is now led to its bright future by a magnificent Queen.” Tyrion supplied with smile and bow.

“Who wasn’t even properly educated on Westerosi history. There’s my point.” Sansa shrugged.

“Bran is going to push on changes in education.” Tyrion noted, “He told me he hopes that one day women may even study at the Citadel.”

“They should if they wanted.” Sansa said firmly, “but I must admit, I sometimes wish I could just relax with my needlework again, at least once in a while…”

“You should, it is important for a ruler to have some rest every now and then” Tyrion said steadfastly, and then added, thoughtfully, “My lady, if you like to listen rather than read, perhaps I could read that books out-loud for you? I read that quite a long time ago, and I’d be happy to get back to it. And you could do your needlework while listening, how does that sound?”

“It sounds wonderful,” Sansa whispered.

And so, for the next few evenings they enjoyed the third volume of _The History of Seven Kingdoms_ by Maester Daavies together, Sansa sewing something, Tyrion reading to her. The unexpected bonus was an opportunity to comment and discuss events of each chapter - Sansa suddenly found out that the book was not boring at all, when she got the chance to analyse certain passages with Tyrion. And he enjoyed the book much more than he expected himself.

The whole work of Maester Daavies was in ten volumes. Sansa felt very sad when she realised that Tyrion would have to go back to King’s Landing before they manage to read the whole thing.

—

“Do I have something on my face?” Tyrion asked without looking up from the ledger he was studying. It is only then Sansa realised she was staring at him for too long.

(It was a cloudy winter day, and some dimmed cool light seeped through the library windows. His blond curls seemed less golden than they used to in bright southern sun. But somehow he still looked like something _warm_ , an island of bright warmth amongst the coldness of northern stone walls).

She felt embarrassed and looked down on the other ledger opened in her hands. But for some reason she did not really understand the numbers she read.

Tyrion looked up at her, finally. “Sansa,” he said, softly, “what is it?”

 _I don’t know_ , she thought, but did not say it, _I don’t know why I just have a need to look at you._

But she looked at him again. His eyes were so kind and so beautifully green, more green than ever. She realised that may be because their colour was brought up by a green doublet he was wearing.

So: “You look very good in green, my lord.”

Tyrion chuckled, which surprised her - she was not joking.

“Thank you.” Tyrion then said, “as it happens, green is my favourite colour. Just another reason for my father to scold me.”

“What?” Sansa was confused, “why would he scold you for what colour you like?”

“Oh, come on, Sansa, you know very well that there is a message in every colour. When I was a child I remember all of us kids having new robes made for some kind of grand event, tournament or something. Cersei of course wanted deep Lannister red gown - father was pleased when she exclaimed that red is her favourite. Jaime said he preferred gold, and that was also to father’s liking, Jaime was his golden boy after all. And then I popped out with my request of getting a green doublet, I was 4 or 5 back then … you should have seen how father got angry at me!”

“But…. Why, really? Because it is not a Lannister colour?” Sansa was still confused. She understood that formal events required using clothes displaying family colours, but it seemed a bit extreme to get actually angry at a little boy because he expressed his liking towards other colour. She remembered that when she was a child her parents never objected against her pink and violet dresses, even though those were not Stark colours, and neither Tully’s.

“Because it is a cheap colour, of course. And we Lannisters should never _like_ anything that is not expensive.” Tyrion explained, naturally.

Sansa felt so sad, so sorry for him. She sighed, “and I always thought your favourite colour _was_ red.”

“Gods, no!” Tyrion laughed again, “but of course as the last Lannister I can’t get rid of everything that is related to my house’s sigil. Officially as a Hand of the King I wear mostly black, which suits me. But in private I thought I may have something green from time to time. First time I wore green was in Essos, it felt refreshing to be able to dress as I like. But I suppose here in the North bright colours look somehow out of place.”

“Not necessarily.” Sansa said, slowly, “green is a colour of hope and most of all - a colour of spring.”

“Yet you keep saying that winter is coming.”

“We do,” Sansa nodded, “but that only emphasise how we understand that spring should not be taken for granted. And so there is green escutcheon in Stark’s sigil. When I prepared for a battle to retake Winterfell, I made myself a dark green dress.”

“I would like to see you in green one day, your grace,” Tyrion said softly, “I imagine green would go splendidly with your gorgeous red hair.”

Sansa just smiled at him and blushed a little. She hadn’t wore that green dress for a long time, but she had it stored, somewhere. Maybe she could wear it again - why not?

—

Sansa’s relationship with Brienne was complex. Lady Knight was always full of reverence addressing her young queen, and Sansa also kept some distance, maintaining a position of the sovereign of her sworn sword. On the other hand, there was a distant echo of a parent-child dynamics between them: Brienne being protective, and Sansa feeling safe and secure around her, not only in the physical aspect.

They were not exactly friends, nor equals. Sansa never saw Brienne as a replacement for Jeyne Poole or Maergery.

But now something changed; Brienne was somehow vulnerable in her motherhood. She wasn’t naturally maternal, and sometimes she seemed lost in her new role. Sansa, on the other hand, although a little jealous at the start, quite soon found herself doting on little Jaime much more than she was willing to admit. An infant brought back her memories on her little brother Rickon: how she loved to hold him when he was a babe, to carry him around. Sansa tried very hard to suppress her maternal instincts, but it seemed they were truly difficult to kill.

And so, every now and then, Sansa found herself alone with Brienne and Jaime, drinking tea, fussing over a babe. Sansa was natural around the boy and Brienne was astonished. Their roles suddenly reversed: Brienne found herself to be the frightened one, and in need of support, while Sansa was calm and capable when it came to taking care of a child.

And none of the women really noticed when things changed between them. They didn’t realise that their relationship shifted towards friendship.

—

One afternoon all three of them - Sansa, Tyrion and Brienne - surprisingly found themselves free of most current duties. Somehow they ended up together around the hearth; with little Jaime, and Podrick, who suddenly joined them. It evolved into most relaxing and intimate family time: Sansa sitting with her needlework, Brienne keeping an eye on Jaime lying on fur rug, Tyrion sipping wine and telling some incredible stories, Pod laughing.

Later in her bedchamber Sansa realised she last had something similar to that evening when she was a child: sitting on fur rug in front of fire, watching Mother sewing, listening to Father telling stories. She suddenly felt terribly sad.

But then she comforted herself with a reminder that tomorrow Tyrion and her planed to have another evening with Maester Daavies and his _History of Seven Kingdoms_.

—

Sansa did a lot of thinking. She developed that habit during recent years: she was not waiting for someone to save her anymore. It took her some time, but she learned that she had to shape her life herself. However, she hated acting in a hurry. To have a feeling of control, she needed to think every issue through before she made any decision. And so she got used to thinking everything through.

Now she mused a lot on her feelings towards Tyrion. She found herself wishing… that he would stay in Winterfell a bit longer. All together, with Brienne, little Jaime, and even Pod, they created some fragile form of a pretended family - _almost_ a pack. But Sansa felt that for some reason this pack would fall apart as soon as Tyrion would have left.

Also, he was such a good advisor. She knew that already, she was aware of brilliance of his mind, she knew he was experienced in ruling, cunning and clever, and that he had very good political instincts, most of the times. But he was also loyal and trustworthy.

And so, Sansa made her decision.

—

For many years Tyrion Lannister excelled in avoiding thinking too hard when it came to his personal issues. Drinking all the time, whoring most of the time, and gambling occasionally, he managed to avoid analysing properly tough problems for most of his life. But the problems escalated and finally everything got out of control. He killed his father, he strangled his lover, he betrayed his friend, he plotted against his queen. And then young Bran Stark gave him a chance to redeem himself. And so Tyrion tried hard to get better.

He wasn’t whoring anymore, anyway. He didn’t get truly drunk anymore as well. But most of all, he forced himself to face his own anxieties, when they popped out on a surface of his mind. At least he tried to.

One frosty afternoon he decided he had to think. And instead of doing it in the warmth of his chamber, he went to the Winterfell godswood. Sat by the weirwood tree on a bench by the black lake.

In a fortnight the North would celebrate - slightly late - an anniversary of Sansa’s coronation. The Northern lords and ladies were invited to Winterfell. Sansa was planning to present them with all the laws, taxes and ideas Tyrion and her developed together during his stay.

And then his stay would be over. He would go back to King’s Landing. Go back to his King, whom he actually truly missed. Go back to warmer climate, better wine, tasty fruits of the South, fresh seafood. Silken sheets in the featherbeds of the restored Red Keep. The sound of the sea. Vibrant city he put so much effort to rebuilt. Drinking and joking with Davos.

So why did he feel so damn miserable?

_Fuck_.

Tyrion Lannister looked the truth in the face and he realised he _did not want_ to leave Winterfell.

After all, dark ale was not so bad, and wine was also available. Worse vintages were actually surprisingly drinkable as mulled wine, served with spices and pieces of apples. Northern stews, cheeses and meats were actually really tasty. Chambers in Winterfell were pleasantly warmed by the hot waters running through the walls, and it was really enjoyable to seat by the burning hearth in the evenings. Heavy furs were not so bad to sleep under either.

Winterfell was not vibrant, but it was peaceful. And the smallfolk here respected him much more than any servants or craftsmen of the capital.

And there was little Jaime. Yes, that was it. Tyrion just couldn’t picture himself parting with his new little nephew. His new unexpected family. That was entirely understandable, wasn’t it?

And Brienne was a good companion, too. Very different from Davos, but surprisingly pleasant.

And there was Pod.

And… Sansa.

Yes, Tyrion missed Bran, and quite a lot. But he knew that if he left, he would miss Sansa _so_ much more.

He was distracted from his musings by the sound of snow squeezing under someone’s steps. The Queen in the North joined him on the bench under the weirwood tree.

“I am sorry, my lord, have I interrupted your prayer?” She asked, gently.

Tyrion chuckled, “Of course not, I am not a religious man, as you very well know. And I truly know nothing about the Old Gods. But it is a nice place to sit for a while - I hope that I am not very blasphemous saying that.”

Sansa smiled softly. “Not at all, I do not pray myself anymore, but I still like to come here once in a while. It gives me some strange sense of enforcement.” She shifted uncomfortably, suddenly nervous, “Actually, I am happy I found you here. I wanted to talk to you about something… and I need reinforcement for that, I’m afraid.”

Tyrion looked at her, concerned, “Sansa, whatever it is, do not feel anxious. You can tell me anything, really.”

Sansa forced herself to smile a little.

“Are you looking forward to going back to King’s Landing, my lord?” She asked.

Tyrion tensed. “Not particularly,” he tried to sound casual, “But from this question I gather you would like to see me gone already.”

Sansa bit her lower lip. “Not at all,” she whispered, “I actually wanted to ask you… whether you would consider… staying…?”

Tyrion raised his brows in surprise. “I’d love to stay a bit longer, my queen.” He admitted. “I probably should write to king Bran and ask him how long he would allow me to stay here. I am his Hand after all”

“And what if you weren’t?” Sansa asked with a nervous tremble. “What if you… _resigned_?”

Tyrion looked at her in awe.

“I’m not sure I can…” he said slowly, “I didn’t want to be the Hand in a first place, but Bran actually forced me. You were there. He said I have to work for the rest of my life on fixing my mistakes.”

Sansa narrowed her eyes at him, “But in the end, it is just a job, being the Hand of the King. Technically you do have the right to resign. And you told me yourself that Bran issued a sentence that effectively cleared your name of any criminal charges. He can’t actually punish you now.”

Tyrion bit his cheek, thinking hard.

Sansa decided that Tyrion did not seem entirely against the idea of leaving Bran. That emboldened her, and so she gathered all her courage and said:“My lord, I am now proposing you a position of the Lord Hand of the Queen in the North. You are a free man to choose your king, and I believe Bran would not oppose. As soon as you accept job at my court, you come under my protection - the ruler of another independent kingdom, and I do not believe my brother would risk a war just to make you miserable. I don’t know if I can match conditions you had on this position in King’s Landing, but I can promise you comfortable life here in Winterfell. You told me yourself that I should have a southern lord as a Hand: there you are. You did amazing job here with me for the North and I can't think of anyone better suited for this post. I trust you Tyrion,” at this point she started to ramble a little, as if trying to not let him interrupt her, to not give him a chance to say no, “and I know you hate the cold, and the harsh Northern winter, but I hoped you saw by now that it is not that bad after all, and Pod is here, and Brienne, and most importantly: Jaime; you don’t want to go away, to leave him, do you? And you said the other day that you liked the Winterfell library, and also, you’ve said you wanted to see Jon again, and…”

“Sansa, stop!” Tyrion finally managed to cut her speech, “I know very well by now how good I may feel here, in Winterfell. You just…took me by surprise.”

For a moment, they sat in silence.

Sansa was tense, waiting for his reply. He was thinking hard. Finally, he spoke:

“Right now I am in such a point of my life that I do find your proposal very tempting. Yes, I am comfortable here in Winterfell, I found a strange peace in the North. I do want to stay close to Jaime, to watch him grow. I also feel useful and my pride is pampered, as you seem to appreciate any help I may offer in politics and economics. I am no warrior, but it seems that we have peaceful times ahead of us, and perhaps for once someone with brain may be worth more than someone with muscles.”

“ _Always_ someone with brain is worth more than someone with muscles,” Sansa murmured, and Tyrion smiled.

“So, I admit, I could see myself taking the position of the Hand of the Queen in the North,” Tyrion resumed, “However, it is not as simple as that. I have a duty to your brother, and to be honest, my loyalty to him goes beyond duty. And I am not afraid he would punish me if I resign; besides, he can’t even take Casterly Rock away from me, as technically it is not mine anymore, but Jaime’s. But I believe in Brandon Stark, your grace. I care for him and I won’t let him down, I won’t betray him. Not even for you, Sansa.”

Sansa was disappointed, but nodded. There it was, his loyalty. She could not really hold a grudge against his quality that she so appreciated herself.

“Perhaps I could…” Tyrion proposed slowly, “…come back to my king and ask him to release me. Because it is a delicate matter and I don’t feel it would be right to deal with it through letters. I wish I didn’t have to make that journey back to King’s Landing, but I feel it is the only decent decision. I have to talk to Bran, face to face, I owe him that. I will try to convince him to let me go. If he does, I would be happy to accept your offer. If he does not, I would have to stay in King’s Landing. But in that case, would your offer still stand for future? Because I may try to talk him into it, in time.”

“Yes, Tyrion.” Sansa replied, resigned.

“Very well then.” Tyrion tried to smile, but failed. He suddenly realised how cold he was by now. And his chest felt strangely heavy. “Let’s get back inside, shall we, your grace? I think I had enough of the godswood for a while.”

None of them noticed a strangely staring brown-eyed raven sitting on one of the branches of the weirwood tree, watching them as they headed back to the keep.

—

Two days later Tyrion received a raven from his king, Bran the Raven.

_My Lord Hand, dear lord Tyrion (if I may),_

_I am happy to tell you that we are doing very well here in the capital. Ser Davos is doing great as a Hand. Lady Meera is truly invaluable._

_I hope you don’t hold it against me, again, if I told you I took a liberty to take a look on you - I missed you, and I wanted to see you, is that terrible of me?_

_My Lord, I warged into a raven and I watched you sitting in the godswood. Then Sansa joined you, and, as it happened, I overheard your conversation._

_Tyrion, you are free to leave my service if you wish to become the Hand of the Queen in the North. Your duty to Westeros may be very well fulfilled on that position as well. There is no need for you to travel all the way down here to King's Landing - it would be enough if you informed me of your decision in a letter. I must say though, I very much appreciate that you were willing to come back to talk to me about it in person._

_Please remember that you are always welcomed in King’s Landing. You will always have a home here. If you ever decide to visit, I’d be happy to see you. If you ever decide to come back for good, please know that you can. I told you once that you will spend the rest of your life fixing your mistakes. You can do that either here or in Winterfell._

_Take care of yourself. I wish you good luck and congratulations on your new job._

_With truly best wishes - B._

Tyrion stared at the letter for the longest time. He felt flooded with contradict emotions.

He was relieved: that Bran agreed to release him, that he didn’t have to go back to King’s Landing, that the whole thing turned out to be much easier to proceed with than he expected.

He was content: because he would now stay by little Jaime, he would stay among kind people, and his skills could prove really useful for the newly shaped independent kingdom of the North.

And although Tyrion knew he would miss Bran, he knew he would not miss the capital.

(Even in terms of painful memories, it was so much better to be here, in Winterfell. King’s Landing was haunted for him: it was a place marked for him by Tywin’s coldness, Cersei’s cruelty, Shae’s betrayal. A place where he killed his father, strangled his lover. A place where Tommen killed himself, where Jaime died. A city slaughtered, drowned in fire and blood by his own queen.

Meanwhile, Winterfell was cold in weather, but warm in memories. Here Tyrion laughed with his brother for the last time, drinking together. Here he spent an amazing long evening listening to the story of a boy in a wheelchair, who became the Three-Eyed-Raven. And yes, Tyrion faced the worst nightmare here - the living dead - but he survived. With Sansa by his side.)

But, on the other hand, Tyrion now also felt terrified. He never believed something really good could ever happen to him. Deep down he thought he was a misshaped monster who was cursed to have everything good taken away from him, sooner or later.

And then there was Sansa. Clever, good, kind, beautiful. Somehow they developed friendship he never expected was at all possible, especially between a man and a woman.

He was scared as shit that if he stayed, he would eventually fall in love with her.

But then he remembered how a lump suddenly formed in his throat when they recently talked about love… the fact was that he already was suffocated by the mere thought of her marrying some young tall man. So perhaps it was too late, after all. Perhaps he was already lost.

He wouldn’t be happy in King’s Landing anyway, Tyrion decided. He could just as well make himself miserable here, in Winterfell.

_—_

Tyrion waited for the possibility to approach Sansa in private. When he managed to do that, he simply walked towards her and without a word he gave her the scroll from Bran. Sansa read it in silence - her face was expressionless when she looked up at Tyrion. Apparently she made a lot of effort to not show any feelings at this point.

“What is your decision then, my lord?” Her voice was strangled, “Will you resign and take the job of my Hand instead?”

“I will, if you’ll have me, your grace.” Tyrion confirmed, also nervous.

Sansa looked him in the eyes.

“In that case, lord Tyrion Lannister, I now name you the Hand of the Queen.” Her gaze suddenly got warm. She then added “I don’t have a pin for you, as there were never Hands in the Kingdom of the North. You’re welcome to design it for yourself if you wish to have one.”

Tyrion remembered how touched he was when Daenerys gave him the pin. Impulsively, he repeated the gesture he made back then and kneeled on one knee before Sansa, lowering his head.But then he heard her saying, “Get up, my lord, I do not want you on your knee. I need a partner and capable advisor. I am not one of those rulers who are obsessed with everyone around bending their knee.”

Tyrion got up immediately and laughed, relaxed. All the memories of Daenerys were instantly gone. Instead he took Sansa’s hand and placed a reverent kiss on her knuckles. They both smiled.

—

A few days later…

“I have a gift for you, my lord.” Sansa was a little nervous, not sure if he would like what she made for him. Tyrion’s eyes widened; he took the soft package and carefully unwrapped it. Then he felt his throat tightened with emotion.

The gift was a cloak made of thick soft fabric. It was dark green - so dark that it almost looked black, but was unmistakably deep green in glimpses of light. On the right shoulder there was an embroidered Lannister lion, beautifully stitched with a golden thread. The embroidery was small, not ostentatious, but very elegant.

Tyrion had to blink to not let the tears show up in his eyes. He knew she made that cloak herself for him and he knew he would be thorn between wanting to wear it every day and wanting to never use it, to keep it immaculate, like some kind of relic.

He clenched it in his palms, as if terrified to loose it.

“Thank you,” he tried to sound casually, smiling. She nodded, returned a smile. “You’re welcome, my lord. I hope you like it.”

“It’s beautiful,” he confirmed. And then decided to try it on. Suddenly, Sansa knelt in front of him, helping him adjust the fastening under his chin.

Tyrion just froze; her proximity, her scent, delicate touch of her fingers, attention she gave him and somehow _wifely_ care about his looks - it all overwhelmed him.

Seconds later the moment was gone - she stood up, looked at him, content. “You look very handsome, my lord.” She said, gently.

He felt a need to answer with jape, but didn’t manage. Swallowed lump in his throat. Ended up smiling, nodding, saying nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: one of the aspects shaping symbolic meaning of the colours in Antiquity and Middle Ages was the price of particular pigments. Among the most expensive were:  
> 1\. tyrian purple, called royal or imperial, produced of several species of sea snails; depending on the species, the dye’s shade varied from purple to deep red. That was a colour of emperors; Ovid wrote about “wools dyed purple with Tyrian murex […] it’s crazy to bear your fortune on your back!” :D  
> 2\. deep blue made of lapis lazuli - a deep-blue metamorphic rock used to produce ultramarine, mined in Central Asia, so very expensive in Europe.  
> 3\. Intense red called “dragon blood”, according to Pliny the Elder created of mixed blood of dragon and elephant. In fact it was made of certain species of trees called dracaena, and as an exotic ingredient it was also quite expensive.  
> Meanwhile, the most common shade of green was verdigris, made of copper, widely available and rather cheap. And that is why in medieval christian art Christ and Virgin Mary are dressed in red or blue. Those were prestigious, royal colours. You would never see them in green.


	8. The Drinking Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few points about this chapter:  
> 1\. Here goes a classic Sanrion trope: our favourite drinking game. 🙌 I love it in other fics when it is a display of wit between Sansa and Tyrion, but in my version it is just another pretext for them to share memories and learn more about each other. I hope you still like it, though.  
> 2\. Sorry for mixing various shows, but in my mind a head cook of a northern historical household is Mrs Patmore from Downton Abbey, just as Mrs Hughes is the housekeeper :) Bear with me.  
> 3\. Also, I assume that Margaery's mother is dead in the show (she would attend her daughter’s wedding otherwise) and I took liberty to suggest she died long ago, because otherwise I think Margaery or someone else would mention her (?)  
> 4\. I am updating to fast, am I not?

If Tyrion thought his stay in the North would be some kind of rest, he was wrong: he worked for Sansa just as hard as he did for Bran in Kings’ Landing. Sometimes he got so occupied with scrolls and ledgers that he missed a meal… later, when Sansa realised that, she started to look after him personally at the time of meals to make sure he took a break to eat. But before that he often found himself surprisingly hungry by the end of the day. Luckily, he managed to create a good relation with Winterfell head cook, Mrs Patmore - bossy but kind lady, who asked the servants to tell her whenever Lord Hand had missed a meal. In that case she would leave him a set of cold snacks - ham, cheese, bread, nuts and berries - wrapped and awaiting on a kitchen table, along with a lit up candle. He usually just came down there rather late, lit up more candles, and ate whatever was left for him helping himself with some wine or ale which Mrs Patmore also would leave for him.

One of the nights Tyrion was enjoying his midnight snack and a flagon of dry red when suddenly Sansa entered the kitchens. She was surprised to see him, just as he was surprised at her entrance. The Queen smiled at him, but also raised her brows questionably.

“I’ve missed the evening meal,” he explained.

Sansa nodded and approached a cupboard of medicines. She took a small bottle out of it. Essence of Nightshade. “I just needed that for sleep.” She explained.

Before she turned to leave, Tyrion instinctively proposed: “Would you like to join me in my midnight feast?”

Sansa looked at his snacks and wine. She considered the offer and decided to take it. She brought a cup and a small plate for herself and sat across the table.

Tyrion grinned and poured her some wine. He tried to get his thoughts together, as the sight of the Queen distracted him severely. She was wearing a dressing gown and her hair seemed moist - most likely she just took her bath. Was she naked underneath that dressing gown? Tyrion decided to start some conversation to cover up his unease and to push his mind elsewhere. He focused his gaze on a small notebook with attached stylus that she held and now placed on the table next to her plate.

“That’s a nice notebook, my lady,” he said casually, “do you walk around the castle in the night and make notes?”

Sansa blushed a little, picked a piece of ham, and sipped her wine.

“No, my lord, that is my secret notebook of words.”

Tyrion felt intrigued. He raised his eyebrows - “ _Secret_ notebook of _words_?” 

She blushed a little and asked him: “Remember my sheep shift story, my lord?”

“Vividly.” Tyrion grinned and Sansa narrowed her eyes on him, “you know, I am rather angry that you never told me it was _shit_ , not _shift_.”

Tyrion grinned even wider, “But you were so innocent and cute. I did not want to corrupt you.” He winked, but she did not wink back.

“Well, at least if you told me, I wouldn’t make a fool of myself later. It was only when Arya and I reunited in Winterfell and in one conversation I referred to that. Gods, how she mocked me!”

“I am sorry to hear that, your grace.” Tyrion pressed his lips in a line.

“Well, yes, exactly. I am a Queen now, as you just noticed. I can’t risk using wrong words and I don’t really have anyone to ask about something I don’t understand. So I write them down and search for their meaning myself.”

Tyrion felt sad. She was still a teenager, wasn’t she? She still had a lot to learn and should not be ashamed about that fact. You can’t know everything when you are not even 20. But she had no parents or elder brother to ask anymore.

“What about Maester Wolkan?”

“Well, he’s still my subject. I would rather not let him know that I don’t know the word _shit_ , or anything like that. And I am not saying I don’t trust him, but you know… he came here with Roose Bolton.” She shrugged, “So I prefer to make notes on anything I don’t understand and then try to figure it out in the library by myself. For example, if I wanted to check the meaning of a word 'shift', I would look it up in Valyrian dictionary, and then the other way round: common tongue translations of Valyrian words usually provide synonyms. That is how I would learn it was _not_ a vulgar word for dung.”

Tyrion was most impressed. She was so determined and resourceful. Nothing of a naive girl he thought her back then in the King's Landing gardens.

“It is amazing, your grace,” he said, “I admire your approach.“

“Thank you, but it does not always work,” she admitted, “sometimes I misspell the word and can’t find it anywhere.”

“May I offer you my service in such case?” Tyrion proposed gallantly, “I read quite a lot, I must say I believe I know a lot of words. I hope you know you can trust me - I would never mock you or tell anyone that you didn’t know something. And technically, it is my job to advise you.”

Sansa looked at him thoughtfully, sipping her wine.

“All right,” she said after a while, “as long as you don’t laugh at me.”

“Never.” He reassured.

“There are two things… that I did not understand from your conversation with Brienne. And I can’t figure them out.”

Tyrion was intrigued, “Go on.”

She opened up her notebook and said: “the first word is _fork-play._ ”

Tyrion chocked on his wine and Sansa furrowed her brow. “You said you wouldn’t laugh.”

“I’m not laughing.” Tyrion reassured her, “you just took me by surprise. You see, my queen, there’s no 'k' in there. The word is _foreplay_.”

 _And I thought it had something to do with cutlery…_ Sansa thought embarrassed, while Tyrion bit his cheek to suppress a smile. But somehow he managed to remain serious. She appreciated his kindness, so: “Is it some kind of play, a game perhaps? Can you show me?”

Tyrion gritted his teeth. She _was_ still naive, after all, no matter how clever. “No, it is not a game, exactly. It may be called a play, between a man and a woman… and no, I can’t show you. Or, to quote myself from our unfortunate wedding night - _I could, but I won’t_. _Not until you want me to_.” He raised his cup with the same self-mocking expression he had back then.

Sansa blushed as the meaning of his words sunk in. Also, she felt uncomfortable about how he called their wedding night “unfortunate”. He didn’t know, probably, how wonderful it was comparing to her second wedding night… and then she remembered _“Maybe we should have stayed married?”_

She did not want to think about that now, though.

Tyrion noticed her distress and rushed to lighten the mood. “So, what about the second thing? You’ve mentioned there were two.”

Sansa picked up a piece of cheese and sighed. “I have a feeling that the second one is even more embarrassing”She did not meet his gaze, “Brienne referred to… some drinking-truth-game you’ve played?”

“Ah, yes,” Tyrion visibly relaxed, “ _That_ , my Queen, I actually _can_ show you. No wonder you couldn’t find it in any book - it is a game I actually invented. We’ve played it with Jaime, Pod and Brienne after the Long Night. Let’s play now!” Tyrion was suddenly excited. He filled both their cups with wine and explained the rules. “The game is simple: I make a guess about you and if I am right, you drink; if not - I drink. The statement must be a guess, not something that is well-known. For example, I could not say: _you have one sister_ ; because that is not something I guessed, it is something I know. The statement should be based on observation, and I am an excellent observer.”

“All right, let’s play,” Sansa felt intrigued and Tyrion’s enthusiasm amused her.

“Yes!” Tyrion suddenly got up, took a pitcher from the shelf and filled it with fresh water. He brought it back to the table. “That will let us play longer,” he explained and started: “I’ll go first. I say… when you were a girl, your favourite colour was pink.”

Sansa sipped her wine, but murmured “that’s quite easy, almost all the girls like pink.”

“I don’t know much about girls,” Tyrion explained, “I just noticed that before we were married you mostly wore pink dresses - back in Kings’ Landing.”

Sansa was somehow flattered that he noticed that. But now was her turn. She thought for a moment and then said: “You speak Valyrian. And I don’t mean that you’ve learned it recently in Essos, I think you’ve learned Valyrian when you were young, maybe even a child.”

Tyrion chuckled, “Whether I _speak_ Valyrian is debatable. But I will drink this time, as indeed I have learned some Valyrian in my youth, mostly to enjoy Valyrian poetry in original. Alas, apparently understanding foreign language and speaking it are two different things. I have made quite a fool of myself on several occasions in Mereen.” He giggled to himself and took a sip from his cup.

Sansa looked at him intrigued, and decided to tease: “Would you have enough self-distance to tell me of such a situation?”

Tyrion grinned. “Sure, my Queen, why not. For example one time Varys and I were walking down the street and I saw a beggar woman with an infant in her arms. I wanted to give her a coin but she was obviously distrustful, so I decided to explain to her that I am just giving her money so she could buy something to eat for her child. Suddenly the woman panicked and looked like she wanted to run away. Apparently I told that poor girl that I wanted to _eat_ her baby and she thought I tried to buy it from her!”

Sansa couldn’t help herself and let out a bark of laughter. Tyrion looked at her in awe. It was worth to make a fool of himself if only that way he managed to make Sansa laugh.

Sansa, on the other hand, was not merely amused by this story. She was also suddenly reminded of a humiliating scene at Joffrey’s wedding - and how Tyrion ordered the acting dwarfs to be extra paid on his account. She never thought of that before, but now she realised how generous Tyrion actually was, and how sensitive towards someone else’s misfortune. He was so _gentle_. Of course giving away money was rather an easy gesture for a rich Lannister, nevertheless she never saw any other Lannister actually giving alms. Not mentioning the fact that all the other Lannisters would probably have those dwarfs flogged if they were in Tyrion’s shoes. And most likely they would pass by a beggar woman in the streets without even noticing her existence.

She smiled warmly towards Tyrion and reached out to squeeze his hand - just for a brief moment. He blushed a little. To cover up his unease, he resumed the game with a little artificial enthusiasm. “My turn, my lady! Now I say that… when you were a girl, your favourite story was the one about Prince of Dragonflies and Jenny of Oldstones.” Sansa slowly nodded and took her drink. “How did you know?” She tilted her head. “Have I mentioned it? Or have you seen me reading it?”

“No.” Tyrion looked all smug, “But I remember you wearing dragonfly necklace, and you had dragonflies embroidered on one of your dresses. Which, if I remember correctly, you liked to create by yourself. I just assumed it had been a reference.”

“Impressive.” Sansa admitted. She felt somehow flattered by the fact that Tyrion observed her so carefully back in King’s Landing, and it was satisfying that he appreciated a subtle cultural reference she used in her dress and jewellery. Also, she felt bold after the wine started to warm up blood in her veins. Nonetheless, she actually surprised herself when she suddenly said: “And you, my lord, I suppose, read many stories, but I dare say that your favourite books… were not of a decent kind.”

Tyrion froze for a second and then suddenly laughed. Still chuckling, he drank from his cup. “Oh, my queen, you apparently know me better than I thought. Yes, I must admit I do enjoy a dirty book once in a while, and some of my favourite ones are not exactly suitable for innocent ladies.” He gave her a wink and then continued with wicked grin. “But since _you_ have mentioned indecent subjects, ( _Sansa blushed_ ) my new statement is: you still think Loras Tyrell would have been a good husband for you.”

Sansa was confused. “Why not? And what is indecent about that?”

“Drink, Sansa!” Tyrion was visibly amused. Sansa obediently drank, but insisted: “Come on, tell me what you mean.”

Tyrion sighed and looked at her warmly. “Dear Sansa. I know that you thought the Knight of Flowers was the man of your dreams, but believe me, he would be a terrible husband. He was not interested in women at all.”

Sansa’s brow furrowed, so Tyrion explained softly: “He was only interested in men. He was actually a lover of Renly Baratheon.”

Sansa’s eyes widened: “What?! How come? How…? Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure, everybody knew it.”

“Margaery didn’t. She was happy for me, she said I would enjoy Highgarden…” Sansa started, but stopped, seeing Tyrion’s amused expression.

“Why do you think Margaery remained alleged virgin although she was married to Renly?” He asked.

“I don’t know… They married in haste, there was war… perhaps they did not want to have their wedding night in a tent…”

Tyrion raised his brow on Sansa and she felt so stupid suddenly. He continued, ever softly, “Sansa, I recall that your brother Robb married Talisa in the middle of the war and before they were killed she was already pregnant, right?”

The memory of Robb and the good sister she never knew was painful, but Sansa understood Tyrion was right. Even a camp marriage should at least have been consummated.

“And I am sure you _would_ enjoy Highgarden… just not necessarily you would enjoy Loras.” Tyrion supplied.

Sansa was thoughtful. “Now that you’ve said it… he was awkward when we had a walk in the gardens. He never tried to kiss me, he seemed distracted… But then, he gave me a rose during a tournament earlier!”

Tyrion chuckled, “perhaps Renly was sitting right behind you.”

Sansa suddenly paled. She remembered _that_ \- because she was actually surprised that king’s brother did not sit next to the king, and also excited that she he was so close to the member of the royal family. She assumed that was because his father was Lord Hand and the whole tournament was for his honour...

“I thought Margaery was my friend…” she whispered, and then, suddenly: “wait, why have you said she was _alleged_ virgin?”

Tyrion just looked at her with that _oh my sweet summer child_ look. She narrowed her eyes at him, irritated. “What else don’t I know about Tyrell siblings? What else do _you_ know?”

“Nothing!” Tyrion raised his hands in gesture of surrender, “I’m not in possession of any particular knowledge. It’s just that… she seemed to have been, I don’t know… _experienced_ in relationships, I would say. She managed to wrap Joffrey around her finger, and as I’ve heard she later did even better with Tommen.”

“She told me that you could be good for me when I was terrified before our wedding,” Sansa whispered more to herself than to Tyrion, “that your experience with women was a good thing because we were difficult to please. But she said her mother told her that.”

“Her mother…?” Tyrion smirked, “the one who died when she was a child?”

Sansa hid her face in her palms. “I am such an idiot.”

“No, no, Sansa!” Tyrion tugged her hands, “you are far from idiot, you were just an innocent girl. Besides, at that point you were mostly terrified by the prospect of marrying an ugly old dwarf, you did not think straight - who could blame you?”

Sansa looked up at him suddenly. “I was terrified mainly by the prospect of marrying a Lannister instead of Loras.” She replied, although it was not entirely truth. Back then she really thought of Tyrion as an old ugly dwarf. But right now she was ashamed of it. She wasn’t that stupid naive girl anymore.

“I didn’t know back then you would be the best of them.”

Tyrion smiled softly, but somehow tense. To lighten the mood, Sansa noticed: “and who could have thought Loras Tyrell would turn out to be a bigger pervert than Tyrion Lannister?”

At that Tyrion chuckled. “I told you it was just a reputation to maintain. Besides, I am not judging. As far as I am concerned Loras and Renly could have fucked each other happily ever after, as long as they did not hurt anyone. I just think it’s sad when men like that marry and make some poor girl miserable. On the other hand, some men are just open for all the options. Like Oberyn - he had both male and female lovers and his paramour didn’t mind.”

Sansa’s eyes widened. She thought she saw all kind of filth of the capital - apparently she was wrong.

She drank enough to be brave, or even cheeky. She felt she needed to know.

“Have _you_ ever been with a man, my lord?”

Tyrion smiled, astonished by her braveness. “No, my lady,” he replied calmly, “ _that_ was never my interest, I am a proper little ladies’ man.” _Besides, even if I wanted to try that kind of threesome of foursome, I am too insecure to juxtapose my misshapen body with a normal man’s_ \- he though, but he did not say that out loud. Sansa seemed content with his reply. “Oberyn actually invited me to join him in a brothel,” Tyrion remembered, “but of course, I refused, as I was married to you.”

Sansa looked at him in surprise. Did he just use their marriage as an excuse to avoid joining prince Oberyn in his orgy, or did their vows actually mean something to him?

_She has not respected those vows. She married someone else._

Transfixed on the subject, Sansa dared to say: “If that is my turn, my lord, then my next statement is: you’ve already visited all the brothels in Wintertown since you came here all those weeks ago.”

“Drink, my lady.” Tyrion replied calmly, not meeting her gaze this time. “There is only one brothel in Wintertown. And I have not laid with any woman since I married you five years ago.”

Sansa froze and then felt a huge lump forming in her throat. Tyrion saw guilt in her gaze and quickly grabbed her hand. “Sansa, I am not a good man, I am not honourable.” He whispered, looking at her, “I wish I were, I wish I could say I was faithful to you only because of _you_. But it is not that simple. There was someone else… it ended badly.”

Sansa nodded and drank. But then narrowed her eyes at Tyrion. “Wait, haven’t you told me that ser Jorah kidnapped you in a _brothel_ in Volantis?”

A sad smile spread over Tyrion’s lips, “Look at you, paying attention to all my stories. I’m flattered, really. Unfortunately the only activity I managed to complete in that whorehouse was to drink a beer and to take a piss.” He shrugged, and then added, quietly, “I can’t talk about that now, Sansa. It’s… a story for another night.”

At this point Tyrion decided it is time to sober up a little. He filled both their cups with water and drained his in one go. He indicated Sansa did the same, so she did. Then he sighed, “I think I want to change the subject. Let’s leave dirty stuff for a while, and move on to some bloody business. I have seen you killing dead in the crypts, but you did not seem comfortable with that dagger. So tell me, my queen, am I correct? I say: you’ve never personally killed anyone _living_.”

Sansa looked at him with half-smirk. “What does it mean: to kill someone personally?”

“It is not a complex concept.” Tyrion said slowly, “You take someone’s life, and…”

“I know, “ Sansa interrupted, “I mean: what do you understand by _personally_? For example: you’ve commanded the defence of King’s Landing and you’ve burned Stanis’ fleet with wildfire. Was that your _personal_ kill?”

Tyrion looked down and replied quietly “yes, I believe _I_ killed those men.”

“Then drink, my lord.”

He drank, but looked at her curiously. “May I ask whom did you kill then? Did you command in a battle?”

Sansa held his gaze. “I suppose it does not count when you pass a sentence. Because I sentenced lord Baelish to die, you know. Arya cut his throat, though.” Tyrion just nodded.

“But then there was Ramsay. _This_ piece of shit I believe I just killed myself.”

Tyrion swallowed dry.

“You didn’t know.” She realised.

“No,” he shook his head, “I thought he died in the Battle of the Bastards. That Jon killed him, perhaps.”

“He didn’t.” Sansa replied, calmly, “ _I_ had Ramsay tied to a chair and I fed him to his dogs. I watched the dogs rip him apart. Does that count, my lord?”

That made Tyrion’s skin crawl. He tried to rationalise it: “You did well,” he swallowed lump in his throat, “he killed Rickon.”

“No,” Sansa said, still terrifyingly calm, “he gave Rickon quick death and for that he should have died equally easily. No, my lord, I held other grudges agains him. But that is a story for another night, as you call it.”

Tyrion was simply terrified. He knew Sansa was not a murderer, she wasn’t actually _cruel_ , and by now Tyrion was quite certain, collecting all the clues from their various conversations, that Ramsay must have done something terrible to her. But that was not a good moment to ask. Suddenly, he felt so sad.

But he did not have much time to muse on that, as Sansa decided to resume their game. She filled both their cups with wine. “So, my lord,” she said, “on a subject of killing. I say you’ve killed someone before you were… fifteen.”

Tyrion snorted, “Drink, my lady.”

“Twenty?” She tried and he shook his head, “ twenty…five?” - disbelieving.

“Drink, and drink again.” He chuckled, “I was twenty seven.”

“But…” she was really surprised, “the Battle of the Blackwater…?”

“Yes, just a little bit before that.” He twisted his lips, “I actually smashed a man’s head with a shield. I had no other choice, I was unarmed.”

Sansa for a moment tried to imagine such a situation. “Was it some kind of tavern fight?” She asked.

Tyrion was most indignant. “My queen, have you ever seen me aggressive when I got drunk?”

“No,” Sansa admitted with a giggle, “Unless threatening the king to castrate him counts as aggressive.”

Tyrion laughed a little. “That was not because I was drunk but because I wanted to save you from the bedding ceremony, as you already know. In general I tend to be very cheerful, friendly and even _lovable_ when I get drunk.” He winked. “I am a funny drunkard, haven’t you heard? Funny drunken dwarf.” She frowned at his self-mocking tone and he twisted his lips again, “No, I actually killed a man for the first time to save your mother.”

“What!?”Sansa spat. Tyrion laughed.

“Your mother arrested me, as she thought I tried to kill Bran. Which I did not.”

“I know!” Sansa exclaimed, “I used it in Littlefinger’s trial when I sentenced him to die.”

Tyrion continued, relaxed: “So, I was unarmed and I had my hands tied… and we were suddenly attacked by the hill tribes on our way to the Vale. I used this opportunity to persuade your mother that she should cut me off… release my hands. I intended, of course, to run away: I had an eye on spare horses, while your mother’s men were fighting… but then I saw this one man approaching her. She had a dagger, but it was not enough, I knew he would kill her or harm her anyway… I knew I should just leave her be and run, but well… the galant knight that I am - “ he winked in self-mockery, “- I could not leave a damsel in distress, could I? So I grabbed the shield lying nearby and I smashed that man’s head. It took a while, and it was quite a mess. I did not escape, as a result, of course.”

Tyrion chuckled and Sansa looked at him in awe. She had no idea he saved her mother - and in such circumstances, being her prisoner, falsely accused! But apparently, he was too brave, too chivalric to leave her in danger. Yes, he was so _brave…_

“So, did my mother release you after that?” Sansa asked. She never actually knew what exactly happened afterwards. Lord Tyrion just appeared in King’s Landing, giving her condolences after her father’s execution… she never learned how did he actually get released from her mother’s arrest.

“No!” Tyrion chortled, “She kept me arrested and took me to the Eyrie for a trial. Your cousin Robin very much wanted me dead. He kept repeating he wanted to make a small man fly.”

Sansa’s skin crawled. She remembered her cousin babbling about making 'baby man fly' - she did not understand it back then. “Aunt Lisa almost pushed me out of that damn Moon Door.” She whispered and Tyrion paled. Sansa waved her hand dismissively, “Never mind, she’s dead now. How did you get out of that?”

“I demanded trial by combat. Bronn fought for me and won.” Tyrion explained and sipped his wine even though it was not his turn to do so. Sansa nodded, suddenly sad. She didn’t want to think ill of her lady Mother - but, seriously…? Tyrion was innocent _and_ saved her life - but she still dragged him to face the trial in front of her crazy sister!?

Nevertheless, Tyrion survived all of that, and much more. He was so _strong_. Sansa suddenly understood what strength could mean; it did not necessary had to be purely physical. Tyrion was strong, and so was she. Many underestimated both of them, and now they were dead.

She smiled. She realised she was probably slightly drunk by now, even though she had that cup of water.

Tyrion wasn’t entirely sober either.

He filled their cups with the rest of wine, his hands shaking a bit.

“Now, a final one.” He mumbled. “I say, my Queen, that you - “ he looked her in the eyes “- you have never kissed a man.”

Sansa stared at him for a while, and then snorted. “Drink, my lord.” She said firmly, “I have kissed three men.”

“Really?” Tyrion leaned in, curiously, “I have good authority to say that your first husband was not lucky to be among them.”

Sansa blushed a little. “Well, yes.” She said, “but Joffrey kissed me before, unfortunately. Then Littlefinger, twice.” She twisted her nose in disgust and Tyrion felt sorry for her. “And once…Ramsay did.” At this point she had an expression of a person who was about to vomit. Tyrion regretted his statement, but it was too late to take it back. Besides, he still wanted to win this last round.

“I am very sorry, my lady, about all of them,” he said, softly, “but that still means you drink. Because I said _you_ never kissed a man. Not that no man ever kissed _you_.”

Sansa’s jaw dropped but after a second she just bowed her head and drank deep form her cup. Indeed, she never kissed a man _herself_ and now, instead of feeling virtuous, she felt simply stupid. Tyrion, probably unaware, touched some very vulnerable aspect: she hated her past meekness, even if it were ladylike and proper, as it resulted in letting people abuse her in most terrible way. And so, she wanted to get a revenge on Tyrion now. With an impish smirk, she replied, “Very well, my lord. In that case, I say: you have never been kissed by a lady.”

Tyrion chortled, “Drink, your grace. It is a myth that whores don’t kiss on the mouth, they do whatever their client wants. As it happens, I have been kissed by many women.” _And I even thought two of them actually wanted to kiss me_ \- he did not say that out-loud.

Sansa shook her head, “now you misunderstood me, my lord. I never said you have not been kissed by a woman. I said ‘a lady’ - I meant that you have never been kissed by a highborn lady.”

Tyrion froze for a moment and then drained his cup in one go. He swallowed with another self-mocking expression. “Well, that _is_ pathetic, isn’t it, especially for a highborn lord aged thirty three?” He muttered. “It seems we are equally pathetic when it comes to love and relationships.” And then, immediately, he added “I’m sorry, Sansa, I didn’t mean that. I do not think you are pathetic in any way.”

“No, but you are right.” Sansa whispered. The wine made her feel strangely dizzy.

“Well, the game is over.” Tyrion tried to force a smile, but it did not exactly work, “I think I won, but we can call it a tie.”

Sansa narrowed her eyes on him. She came up with an idea that felt good at this moment, although she had an inkling she may regret it later. But apparently wine clouded her judgement and suppressed her instincts.

“Before we call it quits, can I fix something? Would you please close your eyes?”

Tyrion was not sober enough to comprehend what exactly was going on, but instinctively he obeyed. Whatever the Queen commanded. He closed his eyes.

He heard her getting up, moving from across the table. She approached him and cupped his face with her palms. Warmth spread all over Tyrion’s body…. And suddenly she pressed her lips against his. Tyrion shot his eyes open in utter surprise but luckily she did not see it, as she closed hers. He shot his eyes back and focused on not falling off his chair. It only lasted few seconds - and then her lips were gone. Tyrion dared to open his eyes again, slowly this time. She was bent over him, but she quickly recomposed herself and stood straight.

“There,” she said cheerfully, with just a hint of unease “I fixed it.”

“Fixed….what exactly?” Tyrion asked meekly. He still could not catch up with his brain, somehow.

“Our pathetic thing.” Sansa explained, mumbling a little. “Now no-one can accuse me of not having kissed a man, and you have just been kissed by a highborn lady.”

Tyrion looked at her in awe. He was simply speechless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol, too soon? :)
> 
> One more explanation: I consider show!Tyrion utterly heterosexual. It is probably partly because of how Peter Dinklage portrayed him, but also as I wrote I have a feeling that Tyrion would be too insecure about his body to juxtapose it with another man’s. I do not claim that Tyrion is narrow-minded and he most definitively he has his kinks 😏, but I simply do not see him with another man in bed. Personally, I believe he refused to join Oberyn not because he wanted to be true to Sansa, but rather he used his marriage as an excuse just to avoid awkward situation. 😂 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting!


	9. The night terror

Sansa, however slightly drunk, felt a little awkward seeing Tyrion’s sheepish gaze. On the other hand, she was actually surprised how _good_ it felt to kiss him.

All together, she decided to take off. So: “I say good night, my lord,” she said and moved to leave, “thank you for a very entertaining evening.”

“Shall I walk you back to your chambers, your grace?” Tyrion asked meekly, but she shook her head, “No need, my lord, I know the way and I am safe in my own keep. Finish your supper, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With those words, she left.

Tyrion was very much relieved that Sansa did not accept his proposal to escort her - he did not know what he would do if she said yes. He would have to get up and leave the table, and stand by her side in his linen shirt tucked into his breeches. There is no way she wouldn't notice his compromising cockstand.

Because, of course, the moment she kissed him, he got inexcusably hard. It got even worse when he caught a glimpse of a curve of her bare breast through the neckline of her dressing gown when she bent. He was slightly drunk now, and that did not help either. The moment Sansa left the kitchens he quickly undid laces of his breeches and grabbed his hardened cock. He replayed the kiss in his mind, but in this fantasy Sansa did not just chastely press her mouth against his - _they both parted their lips and let their tongues dance together. She buried her delicate long fingers in his curls and scratched lightly back of his head_ \- thinking of that Tyrion wet his palm. Then, pumping furiously, he imagined how he would undo belt of her dressing gown, still kissing her - _and as she was bare underneath, he would reveal her perfect naked breasts. Slowly but firmly he would cup them with his hands, not breaking the kiss, he would run his thumbs against her hardened nipples_ … at this thought he came hard and released his seed under the table. He immediately felt guilty, but somehow that even enhanced the erotic experience.

He gave himself a minute to recompose and then looked at his own deformed image reflected in a silver plate, now empty. He shook his head in disappointment. _You are a terrible person, I_ _mp_ \- he said to himself - _you are supposed to be the Hand of the Queen, not to use the hand while fantasising about the Queen. Now it's time to clean that mess - let's not leave Imp's seed in the Winterfell's kitchens, shall we?_

He redid laces of his pants and then found a cloth and a bowl, got some water, and tided up all the mess. When he was finished, he looked around to check if there was something more to be cleaned, and his gaze landed at a little bottle.

The Essence of Nightshade. She’s forgotten to take it.

Tyrion took the bottle and went towards Sansa’s chambers. On his way he was pondering on how to give it to her. Should he enter her room, or rather leave it by the door? Or perhaps he should find some maid and pass the bottle to her?

No, it was the middle of the night, no maids around. Tyrion reached the Queen’s door and stood there for a moment. Perhaps she was already asleep and did not need the Essence after all?

Tyrion almost made up his mind to step away from the door, but then he heard something… like a muffed scream? He came closer to the door and froze. He heard it again - so he decided to push the door slightly open. Only then he was able to hear that Sansa was… crying? Pleading?

“No no no…please no…,” and then it turned into scream: “NO NOOOOO NOOOOO!”

If Tyrion had any scruples before about entering the Queen’s chambers in the middle of the night, at this point he could not care less about any decency. He rushed inside, ran towards Sansa’s bed. There was a candle burning on her nightstand, so it was not entirely dark. He saw her pained expression, tears on her cheeks. She was swirling in her bed, all sweaty - apparently she had some horrible nightmare.

“Sansa, wake up, wake up!” He leaned over and gently tugged her arm. But then most unexpectedly she abruptly sat up, grabbed his shirt and suddenly slapped his face really hard.

“Sansa, it’t me, Tyrion!” He exclaimed, and only then she opened her eyes. She was shaking and sobbing, but eventually she looked at him a bit more consciously.

“Tyrion…?” She immediately looked very sorry, “Good Gods, Tyrion, did I hit you? I am so, so sorry!”

“I’t all right.” Tyrion’s cheek was burning, but he was so relieved that she woke up, “I deserved a slap for invading lady’s bedroom in the night.” He winked, trying to lighten the mood.

“I am so sorry you saw me like this,” Sansa whispered, “I drank too much wine and forgot about the Essence of Nightshade.”

Tyrion placed a little bottle on her nightstand. “Here you go, I brought it for you.” And then he noticed several empty little bottles standing behind the burning candle. He frowned his brow, concerned, “Tell me, Sansa… does that happen to you often? The night terrors?”

Sansa lowered her head. “Every night.” She whispered, “Every night since… since Ramsay.”

Tyrion was terrified. “Every night for years? Are you telling me you had no healthy sleep _for years_? The Essence of Nightshade should not be used for that long on regular basis, you know.”

Sansa looked at him, sighed, shrugged, refused to reply. She took a cup of water from her nightstand, then the little bottle. Added two drops of the essence to the water, drank it.

She lay down and pulled the furs up. Tyrion helped her to tuck them around. When she was comfortable, she extended her hand, so he took it. She squeezed his fingers.”Thank you, my lord.” She murmured, and he smiled.

“Have a good night, my queen.” He said softly, ready to leave. But she still did not let go his hand.

“Could you, perhaps…” Sansa said with a small voice, shyly, “could you…stay for a moment longer?”

“Of course,” Tyrion was surprised by her request, but was not going to object. “Let me take a chair.”

She let go his hand, so he took a chair and dragged it close to her bed. He sat down and she immediately extended her hand again, so he took it. Their fingers intertwined. He started to run soothing circles with his thumb against her knuckles.

Sansa’s eyes soon shut, her breath evened out. He should have left her when she fell asleep, but she still held his hand and so he decided to stay just a little longer. He looked at her with tenderness.

Of course, Tyrion was aware that he simply physically wanted Sansa Stark - no surprise there, she was a beautiful woman, and frankly he wanted her even when she was a 14-year old girl. Now she was a woman grown, and her body was amazing: she was tall and rather thin, but had generous tits and nicely rounded hips. A perfect shape of a fertile woman, just like her Tully mother. Her lips were full and pink, her skin was ivory, her hair pure fire. He already had several erotic dreams with her.

But now there was so much more he was concerned about. At this moment jerking off to the thoughts of her seemed like a lifetime ago. He kept thinking about her, but his cock did not harden now. Rather his heart swelled.

She was so clever. She was so determined. He admired her attitude: how she wanted to learn, how responsible she was. She was still a teenager, for fuck's sake! And so lonely, and so mature. How great it was to play drinking game with her! He had more fun that he ever had with Jaime or Bronn… but the story about Ramsay's death and then witnessing her night horror disturbed him. Tyrion knew nightmares, but nothing should hunt like that for yers. It seemed she had a massive unresolved issue there - but then, who Tyrion was to judge?

He only _so_ wanted to help her.

_You moron, you are falling in love again. Don’t do that to yourself. Don’t do that to her._

That could not end well.

—

Sansa woke up just before dawn feeling surprisingly secure and comfortable. Then she realised that she still held Tyrion’s hand: he fell asleep on a chair by her bedside. His head was now resting against the back of a chair; he looked terribly uncomfortable and even though Sansa did not wish to wake him up and send away, she pitied his crooked neck. And so, “Tyrion,” she tugged his hand. He blinked and straighten up in the chair, waking up.

“I am so sorry, my lady,” he murmured, “I should be long gone, I must have drowsed a little.”

“It’s all right,” Sansa smiled to him, “I only woke you up because it looked like your neck would suffer if you slept like that longer.”

“Yes…” Tyrion rubbed back of his neck and shoulder, wincing. “Anyway, I should go now… will you be all right?”

“Yes, thank you, my lord.”

When Tyrion left, Sansa decided to have a bit more sleep. She wrapped herself in her furs, trying to ignore feeling of loneliness, trying to not miss the warmth of his hand holding hers. How strange that was: she never expected to appreciate someone’s presence (let alone man’s!) in her room while she was sleeping. But Tyrion had some inexplicable ability to comfort her and to calm her nerves. It happened already in the crypts, during the Long Night.

Sansa fell asleep again, musing on what she learned about Tyrion during their game last night.

_He was so brave. He was so gentle. He was so strong._

—

When they met for breakfast Tyrion greeted her with smile, but he looked rather miserable with bags under his eyes, and he absentmindedly rubbed back of his neck from time to time. Sansa felt guilty - especially that thanks to his care she actually felt rather well-rested after past night.

“My lord, you look tired,” she said tenderly, “and I imagine your neck must be sore. Why don’t you go back to your chambers and take a nap? And I can give you lavender oil for your pain.”

“I am not a fan of that particular scent.” Tyrion murmured.

Sansa placed her hand on his shoulder, forcing him to look her in the eyes.

“I _know_.” She said, softly, “It took me some time to overcome the memory of your sister spreading this smell wherever she went. But, you see, lavender oil works miracles when it comes to sore muscles or symptoms of cold. Cersei only used it as perfume, and I refuse that her ghost should rob me of using such a good remedy. I decided to deal with the memory of her and now I use this oil with no painful association. She’s the monster of my past, but I believe she won’t hunt me anymore. I very much hope you could try to deal with the memory of her as well, because this oil could work miracles for your muscles or joints when they hurt.”

Tyrion eyed her suspiciously. He never complained about his joints hurting, although indeed some days his legs or hips ached. How did she notice?

“Thank you, my queen,” he nodded, “I’ll take your advice then.”

“Have a day off, my lord,” Sansa said warmly, “Don’t come down for a midday meal, I’ll send someone with a tray to your chambers. We’ll meet at dinner, all right?”

“See you then, my queen. Thank you.”

—

As lord Hand joined his Queen in the afternoon, he looked much better. Apparently rested, he also no longer seemed to be in pain. When he approached, Sansa smelled a subtle scent of lavender oil.

He was thoughtful though, looking at Sansa carefully, and she sensed he wanted to discuss some delicate issue with her in private. Probably something related to last night; the thought made her feel uncomfortable. Was he disturbed by their drinking game? Her brazen behaviour by the end of it? Or was that rather about her nightmares? Either way, Sansa would rather not talk about any of it.

But when in the evening Tyrion approached her alone, his brow furrowed with concern, Sansa knew there was no escape. Well, of course, she always could have said that she did not want to talk, but somehow she felt she owed him some honesty after last night.

“My queen,” Tyrion started warily, “I made a lot of thinking today and I feel I need to talk to you about last night.”

Sansa tensed. “I apologise if I behaved improperly…” she started, but Tyrion cut her off, waving his hand, “Please, Sansa, don’t. I just worry about you, you should never apologise for having nightmares.”

_Ah, so he referred to THAT. Not to their game and kiss._

“All right then. Tell me what you’ve been thinking about.”

Tyrion approached the table, took a jug of ale and poured it into two cups. He gave her one and drank before he got himself together and said: “Sansa, I do not now details about your second marriage. I figured out it was not a happy one, but I respect your privacy enough to stop myself from seeking information you have not chosen to share. I think I may say I know you now, and I consider you a very strong person, and a survivor. Whatever Bolton bastard did to you, you took your revenge and now he is dead. But if you still suffer form such terrors, as if it were months and not years ago, that means you did not deal with him after all. Today you told me you managed to overcome the memory of my sister - I wish I could help you somehow to do the same about Ramsay.”

“How can you help me, my lord?” Sansa asked with a small voice.

“I don’t know. But I want to try.”

They sat for silence for a while, sipping ale.

Then, Tyrion spoke again: “Sansa, I don’t know if I am right or wrong, but I have a feeling that sometimes even mere talking about painful issues may be helpful. Have you ever simply told anyone what exactly happened? Have you shared your pain, in details? Let the emotions out?”

“No, not exactly…” Sansa shook her head. “I mean, of course, some people knew… Ramsay was a sadist and even if it weren’t a common knowledge… some people suspected. Theon knew better, of course… and when we escaped, and Brienne and Pod rescued us, I later told Brienne. Not everything, but in general, some… and she was there when I confronted Petyr. Later I told Arya, but again, just vaguely. I never shared _all_ the details with anyone, though. I don’t think I could.”

“If you wanted…” Tyrion whispered, “I heard I could be a good listener.”

Sansa looked at him, carefully.

“You are my friend,” she said, after a moment, slowly, “and if I ever wanted to share some uncomfortable memories, some details no-one should ever know about the Queen, you would probably be the only person I could talk to. The thing is… I don’t think I want to share at all.”

Tyrion sighed. “I just wanted… I don’t know. I thought you may feel better. It usually helps - to share traumatic experiences.”

“Have you ever shared, my lord?” Sansa asked, “Have you told anyone, in details, about those things you call 'a story for another night'?”

Tyrion was thoughtful. “Not in details, I think,” he replied, “but I did share a story of my unfortunate first marriage with some people… Bronn, for example. Well, it is not exactly a secret. Even Brienne knows that I’ve been married before you. It was one of those moments when I loved a woman and it ended badly. And yes, it feels good to share such stories, I think.”

Sansa’s eyes widened. “I never knew you were married before.” She whispered. And then, after a moment of silence: “If I decided to share my trauma with you, would you do the same? Would you tell me about your worst stories?”

Tyrion pursed his lips. He understood her point. She wouldn’t expose herself so much and she would feel less vulnerable if their sharing were mutual. It would be joined trust and in a way - a joined secret. Confession on more equal terms.

“If that could help you, I would.” He said slowly, “Although I’d expect you would never think of me kindly afterwards. I made some terrible things, Sansa, and I’d prefer to forget about them. But know this, my queen: your well-being is my priority. If exposing my sins may help you to share your troubles, so be it. Even if as a result I loose my most precious position of your Hand. Bran said he would have me back, anyway.” He was simply sad now.

Sansa shook her head, “Why you give me so little credit? Do you really think I am that naïve? That I value you because I have some false image of you and once I learn some truth about your past I suddenly turn my back on you? Do you really think so low of me?”

“No, Sansa!” Tyrion immediately replied, “I only think low of myself! But you are right, I should not have said that. After all, Bran knows _everything_ about my past, and he still wanted me as his Hand. I never meant to suggest that you would be less understanding than your brother. It’s only…” Tyrion sighed, “it’s only my own self-hatred talking.”

“I believe we are friends now, Tyrion,” Sansa murmured, “and true friends can share the worst secrets without jeopardising their friendship, I hope.”

Tyrion bowed, took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Whenever you ready, then, my Queen. But if I may have one request: I’ll need a lot of wine for that.”

Sansa snorted. “Suit yourself with as much wine as you want for that, my lord. I’m afraid I’m going to need brandy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shorter because I decided to split it in two, so their traumatic stories end up in separate chapter with appropriate warning. This next chapter will be uploaded soon, I hope.
> 
> HAPPY NEW YEAR, Everybody!


	10. Terrible stories for another night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: this chapter contains description of violence, in my opinion rather graphic, so if you want to skip it just read the summary in the end notes. I felt it was necessary for Sansa to reveal some details of her experience, also for Tyrion to understand her limits.  
> Also, I feel I need to explain my view on Tysha story. In general it is simply show!canon here in this fic, but in this case I want to address all the Readers who prefer book version. I must say I find it not entirely convincing, and not because I want to whitewash Tyrion.  
> First of all, just as Shae in the show said, a girl who has almost been raped would not jump into some stranger’s bed immediately afterwards. Especially if she were a virgin: I can’t imagine she would so easily give her virginity to someone she just met, even if he were the son of a great lord. If Tysha were a maiden and a craftsman’s daughter, I would find their love story believable if it were spread into longer timeline: if they ate and drank that evening, and next day Tyrion sought her, and wooed her for some time, and eventually she would give in. But not in one night, really.  
> So here Tysha is a whore, rented by Jaime. And not a maiden - show version never mentioned that.  
> But then there is another disturbing issue of the book version: the fact that in the end Tywin ordered Tyrion to rape her as well, and Tyrion did. I find that very strange, and not because I don’t believe Tyrion would obey Tywin (in fact I think he most definitively would, at that point), but because I do not think that in such traumatic circumstances a sensitive boy would physically be able to perform. Frankly, I just can’t imagine any man not only getting hard but also completing intercourse in such a situation. So I took a liberty to create a version of this story that is somehow in-between.  
> I hope you don’t hate me for it.

At first Sansa was going to postpone this difficult conversation until an undefined future, but once she made a decision that she eventually wanted to go for it, she found out that she could not focus her mind on anything else. Besides, their current work was more or less done; they expected lords and ladies of the North to arrive in Winterfell in five days. Sansa decided that if they were to take a day off, they should do it now; she preferred to have her mind clear before her bannermen gathered.

And so, they arranged their meeting in the evening: in Sansa’s private chamber, with two flagons of wine and a bottle of brandy.

“Is this wise, to mix wine with brandy?” Tyrion asked when he saw what she prepared for them.

“I doubt any of what we are about to do here is wise,” Sansa murmured, “but since you suggest it may strike us, let’s make sure we don’t bruise when we collapse.”

And so she took a bunch of cushions and arranged a place for them to sit comfortably on the rug by the fire. They sat down and swilled a cup of wine each for a start.

Deep down Tyrion still feared that once Sansa learned about what he did with Tysha and Shae, she would never call him her friend again. But then he had that inexplicable tendency to sabotage his own well-being… as if some twisted part of him _enjoyed_ putting himself in painful situations.

So, he decided to go first.

“When I was sixteen Jaime and I met an orphaned wheelwright's daughter on the road one day,” he began, “She was running away from some attackers who tried to rape her. Jaime rode off after them, and I took the girl to the nearest inn. Her name was Tysha, she was seventeen. Together we finished off three chickens and a flagon of wine… and so I forgot how shy I was around girls. Because, you see, I was still a virgin back then. And however surprising that may seem, I was also unaccustomed to wine. So one thing lead to another and I ended up in bed with her. My performance was far from perfect, but she was good to me. She never laughed at my body, she kissed me afterwards, and sang me a song. By morning I was deep enough in love to ask for her hand, and she accepted. I found a drunken septon, I paid him, and I married her. We played man and wife for a fortnight, until the septon sobered up and told my father. And first of all, my father had Jaime tell me the truth.”

Sansa listened with furrowed brow; Tyrion looked at her at this point. Before he continued, he drank some more wine.

“Tysha was a whore rented by Jaime, he had arranged the whole thing because he thoughtit was time I had a woman.” Tyrion explained.

“Gods, Tyrion, I am so sorry!” Sansa whispered, but he shook his head.

“The worst was yet to come, my lady. My father did not just have our marriage annulled. To teach me a lesson he brought in my wife and gave her to his guards. He paid her well, a silver for each of them. By the end, she had so much silver, that the coins were slipping through her fingers and rolling onto the floor… but make no mistake, Sansa, she did not consent to serve them. It was a gang rape, she cried and bled… and I saw it. Because my father brought me into the barracks and made me watch.”

“Oh Gods, oh Gods!” Sansa was genuinely terrified. She was aware that Tywin Lannister was a cruel man, but she did not expect even he could have done something like that to his own son. She clenched her fists, terrified. “What happened to her, eventually? Did she survive it?”

“I think she did, although I don’t exactly know what happened to her after… after… “ at this point Tyrion finished his wine and decided to go for a cup of brandy. His eyes were misty when he looked up at Sansa again. He stayed silent for a moment, thinking hard, and made a decision to continue.

“Here goes the part I never told anyone, Sansa.” He said with a small voice. “After the guards were done, my father ordered them to leave us alone: him, me, and Tysha lying naked on the ground, seed and blood leaking out of her cunt. And then lord Tywin commanded me to go last, and he gave me a gold coin to pay her, because I was a Lannister, and worth more.”

Tyrion expected to see disgust in Sansa’s eyes at this point, but he only saw sorrow. She reached for his hand, squeezed it. He appreciated her gesture, but then withdrew his palm, feeling uncomfortable.

“So, did you obey?” She asked calmly.

“I wanted to.” Tyrion’s voice was rasping now, “I mean: I did not want to _rape_ her, but I had no strength to disobey my lord father. I would do that, most likely, if I could, I would rape her, and I _hate_ myself for it today. But in the end, I couldn’t.”

“How so?”

“Men are not emotionless machines from waist down, Sansa; at least I never was. Those things depend on… I don’t know how to put it… mental circumstances? At this point I was drowning in emotions that tore me apart: I felt betrayed by Jaime, and by Tysha, and I hated her at the moment, but I also loved her, and I pitied her, and I was so scared of my father… And so, all together, I just couldn’t do it, especially with my father _watching_.”

Tyrion sipped some brandy and added, quietly, “My lord father ordered me to lower my pants so he could see my weakness. He then mocked me: asked if I were able to consummate this ‘so called marriage’ at all. Then he told me he would have her himself to teach me a lesson, but after consideration he found it too disgusting to stick his cock into a dirty whore who just had been fucked by his guards. Then he stressed that unlike me, he _could_ do that, and I actually saw the bulge in his breeches that confirmed his abilities. His final statement was that now he had final proof that I was a misshapen monster and not a man, as even my cock did not work, apparently. _This_ he actually said that with a visible satisfaction, and I must say it really was the final blow for me that day.

As a result, from that moment I decided I would spend as much of my father’s money as I could whoremongering in every possible brothel. At least in that aspect I was able to prove him wrong, to wipe that satisfied smirk off his face. Soon he started calling me a lustful beast, but he never again accused me of being an impotent.”

Sansa was speechless. She never expected such a story - but it threw some light on Tyrion’s later actions.

“So that is why you eventually killed your father.” She stated rather than asked.

“Not really, no…” Tyrion shook his head, “Maybe on some level I held this grudge, but if that were a reason, I would kill him sooner, not over a decade afterwards. No, I shot my lord father with a crossbow in a privy for a very different reason. Also related to a woman, though.”

Tyrion refilled their cups with wine again and resumed his story.

“When I got released from Eyrie, I went to join my father in his camp by the Green Fork. As he decided that I should be in a vanguard in the battle to come, I was rather stressed and so Bronn found me a distraction. A camp follower, taken from some other knight. She was cheeky and straightforward, an exotic beauty, and I immediately took liking to her. I told her I would give her a lot of gold if she kept me company. She proved to be well skilled in bed, and so as I have survived that battle, I decided to keep her by my side. Moreover, she was eager to go to the capital, and my father explicitly forbade me to bring a whore to King’s Landing. So, naturally, I decided to do the contrary and I took her with me. At first I planned to hide her in the kitchens for safety, but she refused to play a scullery maid. And so I came up with an idea to place her at court as a lady’s maid.”

At this point Tyrion looked at Sansa apologetically and whispered, “It was Shae.”

“Shae?! My Shae?” Sansa did not see that coming. “You hired _your whore_ as my handmaiden?” She suddenly felt angry. “What was your plan, to spy on me? To invigilate the traitor’s daughter on behalf of the Lannisters?”

“What? No, Sansa!” Tyrion denied and Sansa calmed down a little, “I never thought of anything of that sort! In fact, Shae was loyal to you, she actually started to care about you at some point. The other maids were probably my sister’s spies, but not her.”

“I did trust her…” Sansa nodded, “I actually at some point thought we could be sort of friends.”

“Well, as I said, I believe she genuinely cared for you. As I thought she cared for me, because somehow our relationship developed into… well, to be honest, I just fell in love with her. I knew it was a stupid thing to fall in love with a whore, but she seemed to love me too. She called me “her lion”, she said I was hers and she was mine. She stood by me when I was wounded and scarred after the Battle of the Blackwater. She refused when I offered her a comfortable life in a rented house. She stated she wanted to be with me.”

“So my handmaiden was my husband’s lover.” Sansa murmured, and Tyrion lowered his head. “But you told me the other day that you did not lie with another woman since you and I were wed.”

“That is true,” Tyrion nodded, “but I was not as noble as it sounds. I was in general miserable about marrying you, sorry if that sounds harsh, but I believed you deserved better, and I was in love with someone else. Bronn told me to wed you and to bed Shae, and to be honest, that was exactly what I initially planned. Many lords keep mistresses while being married… I am ashamed to admit, I considered bedding both of you: a wife out of duty, and a whore for pleasure.”

Sansa narrowed her eyes on him. “My father used to say that nothing before the word ‘but’ matters. So, my lord, you considered bedding both of us, _but_ …?”

Tyrion was too sorrowful to laugh, but he snorted. “But.” He resumed, “ _but_ I ended up bedding neither of you in the end. Because I am not really a cheating type, Sansa. And also, I don’t like to share. I told Shae that she might not sleep with any other man as long as she was mine, but I was true to her as well. So after I exchanged vows with you it felt somehow…. _wrong_ , to immediately fuck another woman. I did not expect I would behave as I did during our wedding night, make no mistake. But I discovered I cared about you more than I was willing to admit. Then I pampered an illusion that we may create some kind of companionship, after all, in time. I lost that hope when my father had your family killed by the Freys, but after that I did not want to add to your misery, and somehow I found myself trapped between Shae and you, feeling guilty. I should have dismissed her earlier, but I had no courage. I loved her and I did not want to part with her; and also I really did not see myself living a celibate life. So I kept her by your side, and I avoided her at the same time. I acted like a coward, and she just got jealous, frustrated and angry. One day I realised that Cersei found out about her, and as my father promised he would hang the next whore of mine, I finally gathered some courage to send her away. It was not out of honesty towards you, it was because I wanted to save her life. But I wasn’t honest with her neither. I knew she would object and I was too weak to confront her, so I decided to put her off… I was harsh, I lied to her. I told her that I didn’t care about her anymore, that I had to focus on my marriage. I broke her heart to make her go away.”

( _Just like Bran did to Meera_ , Tyrion suddenly realised, but did not say that to Sansa).

“She cried, but obliged. I made sure she had her travel to Pentos secured, and money to start a new comfortable life there. It was just before Joffrey’s wedding.”

“So that is why she disappeared so suddenly!” Sansa realised, “I felt terribly let down when I learned she was gone without a goodbye.”

“If only she were truly gone.” Tyrion murmured. Then he poured himself some brandy again. Took a sip.

“When I was on trial for Joffrey’s murder, Cersei made sure all the witnesses testified against me. The judges were my father, prince Oberyn and Mace Tyrell, but my father had the decisive voice. Jaime made a deal for my life with him: he promised to leave Kingsguard, to take his place as heir to Castelry Rock, to marry and sire Lannister children. I was supposed to be found guilty, but granted mercy of joining the Night’s Watch. But in the end I snapped and demanded trial by combat. Oberyn fought for me and lost. The thing is… why I snapped.”

“Why did you?” Sansa asked meekly. She felt guilty again for leaving him there to be executed.

“I snapped because they’ve brought Shae as the last witness.” Tyrion said slowly, “And she testified against me, against both of us. She claimed that we’ve planned Joff’s murder together, you and I. And she humiliated me terribly with her confession. She said that she was my whore, that I stole her and made her do various things. She said she was my property and that I used her when I was bored in any way that pleased me. But the worse came when she said I ordered her to call me ‘my lion,’ and made her say ‘I am yours and you are mine.’ You can’t imagine, Sansa, how everyone laughed at me at this point.”

Sansa grabbed Tyrion’s hand and he did not withdraw this time. He actually leaned in a little. Then took another sip of brandy.

“After Oberyn’s death I awaited my execution, as my lord father announced me guilty. Jaime came to my cell and set me free. But instead of going straight to Varys, who was ready to smuggle me to a ship, I went to my father’s chambers. I am not sure what I wanted to do - I just felt the need to confront him. But he was in a privy. And in his bed… I found Shae.”

“What?!” Sansa was genuinely surprised.

“Yes,” Tyrion’s voice was trembling now, “She became his lover, apparently. She even said ‘Tywin, my lion’ when she heard me coming in. As soon as she realised it was me and not my father, she grabbed a knife… but before she could hurt me, I hurt her first. I killed her, Sansa. Strangled her to death.”

“Sounds like self-defence,” Sansa muttered, but Tyrion shook his head. “No, Sansa. Strangling someone to death takes time and a person passes out first. It would be self-defence if I left her there, unconscious. But after the knife fell off her hand, I tightened my grip. I made sure she was dead. Afterwards, I shot my father in that privy, when he refused to acknowledge how hurt I was by him.”

Tyrion drank again, and after a short moment resumed his story.

“When Varys took me to Pentos, I was a ruin of a man. I truly intended to drink myself to death. But Varys forced me to travel with him… at some point I decided to rebound with the only remedy I knew. I demanded that we visited a brothel...

It turned out that it was not a solution for me anymore.” Tyrion's voice turned small, “I talked to one whore who agreed to have me… and I realised I couldn’t get myself even slightly hard.”

“And… you still can’t, ever since?” Sansa asked cautiously, trying to sound concerned rather than curious.

“Oh, no, thank the Gods, it passed.” Tyrion snorted, “It was a… temporary disfunction. But I realised I couldn’t attend brothels anymore, _that_ I still can’t. I think I am now too afraid… what if I fell in love with another whore, again? I am unpredictable, you see, I accept it now. I really _am_ a monster, a demon. I did the most terrible thing in the world: I murdered the woman I loved.” At this point streams of tears ran down his cheeks.

Sansa felt terribly sorry for him. She never realised how deeply he was abused by his own family. Now she felt desperate to make it better for him, somehow.

“But, are you sure you really did, my lord?” She suggested.

“Am I sure? Sansa, there’s no room for misinterpretation. I killed Shae, I took her life, I strangled her with my own hands.”

“No, I mean: are you sure you loved her?” Sansa clarified. “Because for me it sounds as if you never really loved any of them: Tysha, nor Shae.”

“How come?” Tyrion looked at her, wiping tears off his cheeks.

“Well, I do not know much about love, my lord,” Sansa explained, “Although I believe I saw a true love my parents shared. They did not get there suddenly, though. My mother used to say love is built slowly, like a house: brick by brick, stone by stone, for years. It seems that truly loving someone is possible only when you really know the other person. You don’t love someone for their qualities, you truly love someone _in spite of_ their flaws.”

“Go on.” Tyrion’s brow furrowed and so Sansa continued: “Now from what you said I gathered that you didn’t truly know any of them. You have spent only two weeks with Tysha and then you were surprised by the fact that she was a whore. You knew that Shae was a whore, but again her betrayal broke your heart, because you thought she was different, you did not expect her to act as she did. I am surprised myself, I would never expect her to accuse _me_ of killing Joffrey, so I guess I did not know her either. It seems to me that you did not love any of them, you just fell in love with their images you’ve created in your mind.”

( _You just fell for the idea that a woman might have cared for you_ \- Sansa thought, but she did not say that out-loud. It was so terribly sad.)

Tyrion looked at her, thoughtfully. “How can you be so wise at your age?” He finally asked, suspiciously.

“Because I made the very same mistake.” Sansa sighed, “I let myself believe that I loved Joffrey because I assumed that handsome package came with chivalric character. And so I am speaking from my own experience.”

They sat together in silence, for a while, lost in their thoughts. Tyrion analysed her statement and not only found it surprisingly convincing, but also realised that he made the same mistake the third time, with Daenerys. He thought he was safe with her as he didn’t fuck her, but basically the mechanism was pretty much the same. He got attached to the idea he built around her in his own mind. He thought she was someone else, he wanted to believe it so much that he in fact _chose_ to ignore the signs of her true character until it was too late.

So, perhaps he wasn’t an utter monster, after all? Perhaps he was rather… a fool?

He looked at Sansa in awe. “Thank you so much, Sansa.” He whispered. At that Sansa just leaned in and placed a kiss on his wet cheek. His throat tighten with emotions.

“So.” He murmured, “Am I correct to assume that you don’t hate me after my confession, after all? Do I get to keep my job as your Hand?”

“Of course, Tyrion, don’t be silly.” Sansa shrugged and then refilled their cups with brandy.

“So, it is my turn now.” She sighed.

They both drank. And so she started her story.

“When Petyr told me about his idea of me marrying Roose Bolton’s bastard, I was abhorred. But he convinced me that it would be a wise move, and that in the end I would reclaim Winterfell. I hated the Boltons, but they seemed civilised when we finally met. And Ramsay was rather handsome: not very tall, but well-built and dark-haired. The opposite of Joffrey, I was happy to realise. I never expected to love him, or even like him, but I fooled myself that I could control him. Even when his lover, Myranda, kennelmaster’s daughter who also served as my handmaiden, told me about his cruelty, I still believed I could wrap him around my finger. I grew bold at Petyr’s side, I thought I learned how to manipulate _everybody_. So I agreed to marry Ramsay.

I should have known better, I should have learned on Joffrey that psychopaths are good at acting. Ramsay was perfectly pleasant before our wedding, during the ceremony and wedding feast. Very polite… until we went to our bedchamber.”

Sansa took a sip of her brandy. The next part she told with emotionless face, which terrified Tyrion. Her calm attitude was so unsuitable to what she was talking about.

“Ramsay took my maidenhead in the most brutal way. He ripped my dress, bent me over and brutally thrusted into me from behind. But the worst thing was not the pain. The worst was humiliation. He made Theon stay and ordered him to watch.”

Tyrion’s eyes widened. But that was only a beginning.

“After that, Ramsay made me his prisoner. He kept me closed in one room, which I couldn’t leave all day long. And in the evenings he came to rape me and beat me. Sometimes he whipped me. Sometimes he cut me. He always made me lie face down, sometimes flat on the bed, sometimes bent over the table. I never knew what he was going to do to me next time. But he never hurt my front. He told me once that he didn’t trust himself with it. ‘I have to keep your face untouched for the Northern lords’ - he said - ‘and I have to restrain from cutting your breasts, your belly and your cunt. I need those parts so you could get pregnant, give me an heir and nurse him. One day I won’t need those parts intact anymore, but for now I don’t want to be tempted.’ So he always raped me from behind.

When my moonblood came and he realised he did not get me pregnant, he called me a whore, and terribly carved my back with a knife as a punishment. But that evening he did not fuck me, and then he did not come for the next three days. I realised that although he loved to cut my flesh, he did not fancy raping me when I bled. Perhaps he didn’t think he could impregnate me then, I don’t know. So when he finally came, and asked me if I were still bleeding, I made a terrible mistake. I lied to him that I did… but he checked and revealed my little lie.”

Sansa took a break to drink her brandy and to refill her cup. Tyrion was all tensed, as he sensed some terrible part was coming.

“He told me I had to be punished again.” Sansa resumed, “and he said that if I so wanted to bleed, he could provide that. That evening…. He brutally raped me… elsewhere…” Sansa’s voice started to crack, “and as a result I bled from my…um, bowels… for days.”

Tyrion gritted his teeth so hard that his jaw actually hurt. But he very much wanted to not let out a curse, a growl, or a sob.

“At some point I tried to escape. I wanted to use help of Theon, and one elder woman loyal to House Stark, but Theon betrayed me to Ramsay and the woman was flayed. Theon called himself Reek and was completely loyal to Ramsay. Ramsay had Theon show me his castrated crotch one day… so I knew what my husband was capable of. Ramsay was very good at creating atmosphere of terror, you know. At some point I realised I was more devastated by the fear of what he may do next than by enduring his actual ministrations.”

Finally, at this point tears ran down her face. But she didn’t sob, not yet.

“He just ruined me, Tyrion. He ruined me completely.”

Tyrion felt completely wretched, but tried to keep himself together to support her. He grabbed her hands and she squeezed his.

“Eventually, I managed to get out of that chamber and I went to light a candle in the Broken Tower - it was a sign for Brienne. Because, you see, I met Brienne earlier, and she told me she made a vow to my mother to look after me. But I was with Petyr back then and I dismissed her… now I regretted it so much. Alas, that was the day when Stanis approached Winterfell, and as Brienne told me later, she never saw my sign because she went after Stanis.

Myranda caught me on the castle walls. She threatened to hurt me… it was only then when Theon snapped. He pushed Myranda down to the courtyard, killing her. Then we escaped together, jumping off the Winterfell walls on the huge pile of snow. We ran, but Ramsay’s men sought us. Fortunately in the end we were saved by Brienne and Podrick. I went with them to Castle Black, to meet Jon. Theon decided to go back to Iron Islands. He never called himself Reek again.”

For a moment Sansa and Tyrion sat together in silence, holding hands. And suddenly Sansa whispered: “The worst thing, Tyrion, is…. that… I fear it was _for nothing_. I understand that one pays for mistakes, but mine was paid also by Rickon’s life. The moment I heard that Ramsay had Rickon, I knew my little brother was as good as dead. Jon hoped to save Rick, but I had no illusions. And later, before I fed Ramsay to his dogs, he told me I would never get rid of him. That he would always be a part of me. And now I can’t…. I can’t get it out of my head.

Even though I fed him to his dogs, and even though I had those dogs killed, and carcasses burned, and ashes scattered… he still somehow haunts me.

I keep thinking that I could have gone with Brienne in the first place, that I could have not consented to wed Ramsay, that I could have somehow escaped him sooner… That is the worst part, Tyrion. The thought that I let him ruin me _for nothing_. Because we could have retaken Winterfell another way, perhaps with Stanis’ aid, I don’t know… And now I can’t stop thinking that Ramsay triumphed after all, by damaging me permanently.”

Tyrion furrowed his brow. “No, Sansa,” he said, after a moment, “You are not permanently damaged. You are a wonderful person, and a great ruler, I am certain of that. And do not say that you suffered for nothing… at least, it seems, you saved Theon. If you never married Ramsay, he would never freed himself from being Reek.”

Sansa’s eyes widened. Tyrion’s remark was like a miraculous cure taking away a huge weight of her chest. She never thought about it before, but she realised Tyrion was right. So her suffering wasn’t entirely pointless after all. And Ramsay did not win in the end - she managed to take Reek away from him.

And finally, Sansa started to sob.

It was like letting out emotions suppressed for years. Somehow Tyrion and her found themselves kneeling together, in tight embrace. They both started to cry, holding each other close. And they sobbed heavily together for what felt like hours.

But it wasn’t for _hours_ , not really. They didn’t notice when they collapsed onto the cushions. Drunk with wine and brandy, and emotionally exhausted, after they cried their eyes out they simply fell asleep on the rug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who did not want to read this chapter, a short summary: Tyrion told Sansa about his first marriage to Tysha and about his relationship with Shae, while Sansa shared some horrid details on what Ramsay did to her. I wanted this conversation to be a sort of therapy for both of them, and so they helped each other to reach some conclusions neither of them discovered earlier on their own. For Sansa it was that her suffering perhaps rescued Theon, and for Tyrion it was a change from thinking that he hurt women he loved into realising that he never actually truly loved any of them.  
> Also, I wanted to say that I added Tysha/Tyrion tag because this story will be referred to again, although much later. I am not done with that one yet.  
> I was rather stressed about posting this chapter so please let me know what you think…


	11. The aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My previous update had extremely bad timing: A03 crushed for few hours soon after I published (but it was not my fault, really!) and so my update never showed up at the top of the list on main page of the ship's tag, and I suspect even email notifications may not have been delivered. I noticed significant drop on hits count: so I suspect many of you simply did not notice the update.  
> So, first of all: check out if you have seen previous chapter.  
> On the other hand, for those who did, that chapter was perhaps not very joyful: some of you read it, and some of you decided to consider warning in the notes and skip it. Either way, I feel I *owe* all of you another chapter now, a lighter one. :) So that is why I decided to publish this next one rather quickly. I hope you enjoy, and if there are typos, I will correct them later. ;)

Ser Brienne and ser Podrick were surprised to meet by the door of the Queen’s private chamber. They eyed each other curiously.

“May I help you, Pod?” Lady Brienne was the first to speak.

“No thank you.” Podrick seemed a bit uncomfortable. “I’ll just… stay around.”

“And why is that?”

Podrick wasn’t sure if he was entitled to reveal his mission, but then Ser Brienne was a commander-in-chief here in Winterfell. Perhaps she ought to know.

“Lord Tyrion asked me to make sure no-one disturbed her grace this evening.”

Brienne raised her brows. “Queen Sansa told me the same.”

And so they stood there together, for a while.

And then they sat down by the wall.

“So, Pod, what have you been doing lately? I haven’t seen you; you’ve been busy?” Brienne decided to start a conversation.

“Rather busy, yes.” Podrick confirmed, “I have been arranging moving my lord’s things to his new chambers.”

Brienne nodded. A couple days earlier queen Sansa and lord Tyrion told them in private that the lord resigned of the position of the Hand of King Bran and accepted the position of the Hand of Queen Sansa instead. Therefore the Queen decided that lord Tyrion should be accommodated in a bigger chamber, suitable for his new permanent quarter. Tyrion offered Podrick a position of his personal guard and Pod was happy to take it. Therefore it seemed that they all were to stay at Winterfell for good.

Brienne was content with this news. She liked Podrick and she was glad he was going to stay in the North.

“What do you think they are doing there? Fucking?” Pod suddenly asked and Brienne got most indignant. “Podrick Payne!” She scolded, “you’ve been spending too much time with ser Bronn, apparently. Mind your tongue! And no, I most definitively think they do not.”

Podrick blushed a little and sighed. “No, I don’t suppose they do. Pity, I think they would be good together. An odd pair, but they could make each other happy.”

Brienne nodded. “Gods know my queen could use some happiness. But I doubt she would be willing to be with any man… after Bolton.”

Podrick shook his head, sadly. “I know,” he whispered. “I hope she tells him all about it one day. Just as I think that lord Tyrion should tell her all about his first marriage.”

Brienne didn’t know the details on that, but she didn’t want to inquire. She only knew from Podrick that lord Tyrion used to be married for a very short time to a common girl, and that lord Tywin put an end to this union. She suspected Pod knew more, possibly from ser Bronn, but she didn’t feel it was her place to ask. Just as Podrick never asked what exactly Ramsay did to Sansa. Brienne knew more because after they rescued Sansa and Theon, Sansa was in need of help in dressing her wounds and she felt more comfortable to ask a woman to assist her. That is how Brienne got to see what happened. But of course she never told anyone about it.

“Well, it is their decision.” Brienne concluded, “But yes, I also hope they decide to talk about all of that one day. Who knows, maybe they are talking right now?”

\-- 

“How long do you think we should sit here?” Pod asked after a few hours. No-one left the chamber and it was almost midnight by now.

Brienne wasn’t sure; she assumed that the Queen and Lord Hand had some business to talk through, but eventually they should have left - at least Tyrion should have. She never expected they would just sit in there the whole night. Should she guard the door until dawn? Or perhaps she should just assume that no-one would disturb the queen at this hour and their presence by the door was redundant?

“Should we check on them?” Pod spoke again. And then, confidently: “Do you think they killed each other?”

Brienne huffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Pod.”

_But what if indeed something bad happened?_

After consideration, Brienne decided to lightly knock on the door. As there was no response, Podrick and her looked at each other and she made a decision. Brienne slowly cracked the door open and she peeked into the chamber. Then she quickly withdrew and looked at Pod with surprise. “They are _asleep_.” She said.

Pod giggled, “… naked, perhaps?”

Brienne slapped Pod’s shoulder, “No, you idiot. Fully dressed, of course. They lie by the hearth. I think I saw two flagons and a brandy bottle by their heads.”

“Oooh, I see.” Pod grinned wickedly, “Ah, good old times. My lord will be in need of a special breakfast, scrambled eggs on fatback, I know all about it. Plus minted water as well, and lots of it. I suggest you prepare the same for the Queen.”

“Go to sleep, Pod.” Brienne sighed and sat down on the floor again. “And in the morning bring all of that for both of them. I will stay here to make sure no maid enters the chamber at dawn.”

—

Although Brienne peeked into the chamber very quietly, closing the door made a little noise and as a result Sansa woke up. She felt rather awful: her head ached and her eyes stung. That was probably due to crying hard before she fell asleep; although she also felt terribly thirsty. Her throat was dry and her tongue stiff. She sat up with difficulty (that headache was getting worse every second!) and looked around for some water.

She spotted a jug on the table and crawled to get it. She didn’t even bother to use a cup, but drank directly from the jug. Only then she was able to collect her thoughts together.

She looked at the rug she slept on just a minute earlier. Tyrion was still there, fast asleep on one of the cushions. His brow furrowed, his cheeks puffed and red. He looked…. miserable.

Slowly, Sansa resumed her place on the rug by his side. She delicately reached for his hand and the moment she touched him he immediately grabbed her palm possessively. He tugged her hand towards his chest like a child cuddling teddy bear. And then he woke up after all.

“What happened?” He groaned with incredibly low voice. And then looked around semi-consciously. “Do we have some water?”

Sansa got up and brought him that jug. He also drank from it without using a cup.

Then looked at Sansa, blinking.

“The real hangover is yet to come.” He remarked and Sansa snorted.

Ah, but they were both a _mess_.

For a moment they sat there on the rug. Finally Tyrion sighed. “I should go.”

“You should,” Sansa whispered and thought _but I wish you didn’t_.

Slowly, carefully, Tyrion stood up. His head felt like it was about to explode. He felt dizzy and confused.

“I told you it was not a good idea to mix wine with brandy.” He muttered. Sansa giggled, even though she felt terrible.

“Well, let’s try to sleep it off.” Tyrion smiled gently, eyes half closed. And then, kindly: “Will you be all right, my lady?”

“Yes, thank you, Tyrion.” Sansa smiled back.

“And how do you feel, besides hangover?” He asked with a small voice.

Sansa was thoughtful. “Tired.” She replied eventually, “exhausted even. But not anxious anymore. Somehow…empty? But peaceful? I don’t know…”

“Good.” Tyrion murmured, “That sounds good. You just need to rest now.”

“Tyrion,” Sansa’s voice was tender, “I am really grateful for this evening. Please be sure I do not regret any of it, and I hope you don’t either.”

“Oh, no, Sansa, I do not regret.” Tyrion assured her tenderly. Then reached for her hand and kissed her knuckles.

Afterwards he stumped away, and when he left Sansa decided it was high time to lie down properly in bed. She really felt exhausted. She drank the rest of water from the jug and fell asleep as soon as her head rested on a pillow. She was still a little drunk.

—

When Sansa woke up, the daylight simply blinded her. She felt as if she had sand under her eyelids. She had the most terrible headache of her lifetime, and also she felt she was about to throw up.

Brienne entered the Queen’s chamber as quietly as possible. She saw that Sansa was awake, even though her eyes were still shut, so she approached the bed and put a tray on the bedside table.

Sansa groaned. Why did that damn tray make such a loud noise?

“Brienne, I think I’m dying…” she muttered, “I’ve been poisoned, apparently. It’s a rebellion. It is a regicide.”

“My queen, it’s called hangover.” Brienne supplied softly.

Sansa opened one eye and looked at Brienne, irritated. “In that case I am considering issuing a royal decree to delegalise brandy and wine in my kingdom.”

Brienne chuckled. “ _That_ would cause a rebellion, I suppose.”

Sansa just groaned again. “I am never drinking any drop of alkohol, _ever_ again.”

“It actually could help you to have half-a-cup of brandy now…” Brienne suggested, but Sansa cut her off. “No way. Never.”

“All right then. Here is a special breakfast for you. Mrs Patmore prepared it.”

“Does she know I got drunk?” Sansa was clearly concerned. But Brienne immediately calmed her down, “Don’t worry, your grace, only Pod and I know, and we won’t tell. Yesterday we both guarded your doors. Eventually I sent Podrick to sleep but I stayed myself. Very soon Lord Tyrion left your room… in rather poor condition.”

“Oh Gods,” Sansa sighed, “is he all right?”

“He stumbled and collapsed in the corridor.” Brienne explained. “I just picked him up and carried him to his own bed. Pod was still awake so I sent him to undress the lord. In the morning Pod went down to kitchens and requested two sets of breakfast.”

“And you think Mrs Patmore did not wonder for whom was the second set?”

“Podrick told her it was for himself. He told her that _he_ drank with lord Tyrion last night. He even had a sip of wine before he went down to the kitchens so Mrs Patmore could smell it from him. I assure you, no-one suspects that this breakfast was for you.”

“Thank you, Brienne. I am not sure I can swallow a bit, though. What is it?”

“Well, apparently Mrs Patmore proposed some other solutions than what Podrick had in mind. It seems that her late husband was an enthusiast of alcoholic beverages, and she claims to have better breakfast ideas than scrambled eggs.” Brienne pointed out to the tray. “There is a soup and a juice from pickles brined with dill and garlic.”

Sansa was abhorred by the idea of drinking liquid from under the pickles, but she decided that Mrs Patmore was trustworthy. The soup turned out to be quite greasy broth with pieces of fatback and various cuts of meat. Sansa was surprised how well it tasted, even though usually she was not a fan of such oily soups. But the pickle juice was the biggest surprise: salty and sour, it immediately made Sansa feel _much_ better.

And so only after she felt a little more like herself again, she could peacefully analyse her feelings and emotions after last night.

It turned out that Tyrion was right. Something very much changed after she shared her worst experiences with him. Suddenly it was as if Ramsay were _shifted_ into other space in her memory. As if he was _moved_ from present to past. For the first time in years Sansa had a sense of freedom. As if Ramsay finally joined Joffrey in her mind: and Sansa no longer feared Joffrey, or Cersei, or even living dead. She felt… relieved.

And for the first time in years she slept through the night without the Essence of Nightshade, and with no nightmares.

She didn’t think that she managed to deal with her trauma in one evening, of course, and she expected some problems to reoccur. But most definitively something changed for her. She wasn’t sure what really worked: was it mere talking about what happened to her, was it a realisation that her suffering may have stolen Theon from Ramsay, or was it just letting her emotions go and crying it all out? Or perhaps it was a combination of all of that.

She only hoped that their talk was also beneficial for Tyrion. His stories were terrible, of course, but they did not make her think less of him at all. She felt as if she understood him better now, and all together she was just grateful that he proposed this talk and went through it with her. And as a result they just got closer - at least from her perspective.

In fact, she just had rather a pleasant dream about him: they walked around in spring garden, and laughed about something. At some point in her dream Sansa buried her fingers in Tyrion’s golden curls: and he felt so strangely _warm_ to touch.

_Could she really ever enjoy touching a man? Would she be able to overcome her anxieties to the point of appreciating physical closeness?_

It was nice to sleep together on that rug…

But there was no point to ponder on that. It was indecent for an unmarried lady to be so close with a bachelor.

_Except that… technically, they were actually married._

—

Tyrion discovered that emotional circumstances may unfortunately increase a hangover. But on the other hand he was astonished how well he felt after drinking pickle juice. That was a northern ingredient; in the South Tyrion usually drank water with mint and perhaps lemon juice when he had too much wine the night before. But _this_ was just so. much. better.

As a result, in the early afternoon Tyrion already felt quite well. He wasn’t ready, though, to think the past evening through.

Because if he did, he would have to think about what Sansa endured, and that would make him scream and weep.

And he would have to think about what Sansa told him: that he never really loved Shae, nor Tysha.

And then he would have to think about that wise statement: that love grows slowly, that you have to _know_ someone first, and know really well, so you could say you don’t love _for_ something but rather _in spite_ of something.

And if he thought about that, he would have to admit to himself that there has only been one woman he ever truly befriended. The only one he truly knew, by now. The only one he really trusted.

The one he loved.

That was most definitively something he did _not_ want to think about.

— 

The following night Tyrion dreamt of Sansa, but for the first time with no erotic context. _That_ disturbed him severely.

—

The Lords and Ladies of the North started arriving, eventually. The first day was just for accommodation: Sansa greeted everyone personally, made sure they were properly taken care of after their journeys.

Tyrion was officially introduced as a guest from the South, although most of the lords knew him already. Sansa was very glad to see that for all the meetings Tyrion decided to wear that green cloak she made for him.

The next three days were rather busy: Sansa and Tyrion presented all the laws and decrees they wrote down together during past weeks. They expected some discussion, but surprisingly their proposals were very well received. Some ideas, like certain days for free trade on local markets, as well as yearly assigned tax-free weeks for farmers willing to serve their own food and drink were especially acclaimed.

Afternoons and evenings were a challenge, and Sansa realised that in this particular situation she missed… having a husband. Because usually when guests arrived to Winterfell, the Lord of Winterfell went hunting or riding with men, while the Lady of Winterfell took care of women. Sansa had to come up with someentertainment for _everyone_ , as she did not want to leave either lords or ladies on their own. Finally she decided to organise a feast every evening, as food, drink and music was something everyone enjoyed. Because of that, the last evening, traditionally dedicated to a final great feast, would be just another long supper. That was an advantage, as Sansa felt rather tired after those three days, and so she did not fancy the idea of hosting a huge feast, lasting till dawn.

And so, three days passed. Three days filled with small talks and presentations. But of course the most important political conversations took place in the evenings, during those dinners. Sansa noticed how well Tyrion was doing when it came to manoeuvring around all her noble guests, especially in informal circumstances. She also noticed that he did not drink much, smartly keeping himself sober among drunk lords. If there were several problematic issues Sansa did not know how to convince her bannermen to accept, Tyrion managed to make them come around, eventually, and he mostly achieved that during those evenings.

It was a pity, Sansa suddenly realised, that he never got to be a proper lord of some castle. He seemed to have been _born_ for such a position; well, not born, exactly, as he was a younger son, of course. But his condition really prevented him from having military career, a common path for second sons. His brain, though, predestined him to be the finest lord there could have been: a true leader of the land. His vassals would respect him.

(And if he ever married some clever lady, the one that could see past his dwarfism and appreciate his qualities, no doubt he would turn out to be a very good husband and father.

 _And that would just be one lucky lady._ )

—

Sansa and Tyrion planned that they would announce his new position as the Hand of the Queen on the last evening. And now, the day before, Sansa made a decision that even for her sounded unreasonable. And never, until the end of her life, was she able to comprehend why exactly she went for it at that point, after all.

—

“My lord, can we have a word, in private?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, our girl is getting bold, right? :)
> 
> On some stuff mentioned in this chapter:  
> \- The 12th century medical poem "Regimen sanitatis Salernitanum" reads that “If you develop a hangover from drinking at night/Drink again in the morning; it will be your best medicine.” :D  
> \- The pickle juice is a Central-European delicacy: it is a liquid of home-made cucumbers brined with dill and garlic, only with salt and NO VINEGAR. It is delicious, but I never came across a drinkable one from the store. The ones you can buy are usually too salty to drink. The homemade ones, though, are very different (especially the ones that my mother-in-law makes, haha, yummy!).  
> \- Reference to "tax-free weeks for farmers willing to serve their own food and drink" is based on "Heuriger": an Austrian idea of taverns where local winemakers serve their own wine and specific local snacks (bread, meat, cheeses, and cheese spread called Liptauer) under a special licence in alternate months.


	12. The Most Terrible Offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initially I had that idea of writing a lot ahead and editing very carefully, and re-reading everything like five times before publishing, and so I expected I would update like once a month. But now I realised that I soooo cherish every opportunity to exchange comments with all of you, and being here is so good in these difficult pandemic times, and also I am stuck in the country where there is curfew at 9 pm... so I just decided I will update as often as I like, even if it is not edited as many times as I thought it should be.  
> And here it goes: another short chapter, but intense, I think… thank you for reading and commenting! :* <3

It was rather a late evening, another dinner ended, and Tyrion planned to have a bit of rest along with some more wine in his chambers. But before that, he remembered, he should find some handyman to fix the window in his new bedroom. He has been accommodated there rather recently and only earlier today he had a sudden need to open the window widely. He came back to his chamber to change before the evening (he would not risk wearing his precious green cloak during dinner - what if someone spilled something on him?) and he added a piece of wood to his hearth; but he was a bit tired by now, and so he picked a fresh log instead of a dried one. As a result, the whole room was immediately filled with smoke; and Tyrion just pulled the window frame… popping it out of the hinges.

He was in a hurry to join their guests for dinner, so he just pushed the frame back against the window casting, securing it with a wooden log. Now, as he heard the wind howling outside, he worried if that makeshift construction managed to survive the evening.

But before he had a chance to go back to his chamber, the Queen approached him and asked for a word in private. So they went to her room.

Sansa was clearly nervous. But she seemed determined. Tyrion suddenly felt anxious.

“My lord,” Sansa started, “I have something to tell you. No, I have something to ask you. But first I need to make sure that whatever your answer is, it would not jeopardise our understanding about your position as the Hand of the Queen. No matter if you agree of refuse, I want to make sure you would stay my Hand.”

“Of course I will,” Tyrion felt mostly uncomfortable. What was she going to ask him?

Sansa took a deep breath and then said, unexpectedly: “My lord, tomorrow I will announce that you have been appointed my Hand. I also intend to reveal that our marriage has never been properly annulled. Now my question to you is: would you like to resume it? The marriage, that is?”

Her question sucked all the air out of Tyrion’s lungs. He felt dizzy and dumbfounded, and it almost knocked him out. His jaw dropped. The rational voice in his head screamed “NO!”. But as usual his self-destructive tendencies won... Before he managed to catch up with his brain, he whispered “ _Yes_.” Regretted it immediately.

But Sansa shook her head. “No, Tyrion, don’t answer yet. First you need to know the conditions of my proposal. And then I expect you will refuse, as those conditions are rather terrible. Shall we sit down?”

They sat down on a settee, keeping some distance. Tyrion still felt gobsmacked.

Sansa swallowed dry.

“First of all, I am Sansa Stark and the Queen in the North, and I am not giving any of that up. So if we resume our marriage, I would not take your name. Nor would you become the king - the North would never accept a Lannister king. The best you can get are the titles of Prince Consort and the Lord of Winterfell.”

“That’s quite a lot.” Tyrion murmured. “You seem to forget I never wanted to be a king. I think I made myself clear about it when I proposed that your brother should sit on the Iron Throne.”

“Yes, well. And then…” Sansa cleared her throat. Then looked at Tyrion, suddenly vulnerable.

“Tyrion, you know my history with men,” she whispered, “there is a chance that I may never…. _want_ … and I know that you would prefer… to want me to.” She suddenly got very nervous, so Tyrion grabbed her hands, circled her knuckles with his thumbs soothingly.

“It’s all right, Sansa,” he reassured, “I understand that you propose… a sham marriage that we had before?”

But Sansa shook her head, “No, Tyrion. That would be easier, for sure…”

Tyrion interrupted her with a huff, “My lady, if you think it was _easy_ for me, and that it would be easy _now_ , you obviously underestimate the force of my lusty dark side.”

Sansa smiled sadly, “No, of course my, lord, I did not intend to underestimate your sacrifice with me. I am just saying that I do not want sham marriage anymore, even though there is a possibility that I may never come around as you would want me to. That I may never want you in the way… that you deserve.”

Twisting his lips in self-mocking expression, Tyrion started to withdraw his hands, avoiding her gaze. But she then held his palms firmly. “Tyrion, look at me.”

He didn’t.

“Look at me, please.” She pleaded and so he did, finally. His gaze was full of vulnerability and he looked just hurt.

(Because _what if I never want you to?_ )

But Sansa’s gaze was kind now. “Tyrion, I do not mean that I could never want _you_ as a man. I am not that girl anymore. I am simply afraid I could not ever want any man at all. It has nothing to do with you, and all to do with Ramsay.”

Tyrion nodded. So she continued: “I know you now, Tyrion, I think. You deserve to be with a woman that loves you. The trouble is, I don’t think I am capable of loving, anyone, ever.”

“I disagree.” Tyrion murmured.

“Well, in terms of non-romantic love, you are probably right: I love Bran, Jon, Arya; and it is not exclusively related to my family: I told you I loved Theon like a brother, even though we were not related. And you are most definitely my best friend now, so I can say I _do_ love you - as a friend. But it is not enough when it comes to marriage, is it? Marital love requires some desire, I think, and let me stress it again: it is _not_ that I do not want you in particular, it is that I do not want any man in that way. Male body just… frightens me.”

Tyrion pursed his lips, said nothing.

“But,” Sansa continued, “to make things clear: as I said, I do not want a sham marriage anymore. And that is another terrible condition, probably the worst one: I would expect you to consummate this marriage. I should at least try to provide the next generation for House Stark… but I don’t expect it would be a pleasurable affair, probably for any of us.”

“So, you just want to force yourself to intimacy to produce the heirs?” Tyrion asked sadly.

“Not exactly…” Sansa shook her head, “to be perfectly honest with you, I am not even sure I can have children.”

Tyrion furrowed his brow. “And why not?”

“Well… after Ramsay raped me on our wedding night I knew I did not want to have this man’s child. He kept raping me every evening and, as I told you, he made it clear that he wanted to get me with babe. He punished me for not getting pregnant, he said he spared my front because he needed my breasts and my belly intact for our child… I knew he wanted to secure his position as a lord of Winterfell by having a half-Stark child. But at the same time I knew I couldn’t have his child. I always wanted to have children, I always dreamed about motherhood, and hating my own child would just finish me. I would loose my mind if I gave birth to the offspring of that monster. I would kill that child or kill myself. Or both. So, in spite of the fact I knew it could get me in trouble, I asked one elder lady, who was loyal to me, to smuggle me the moon tea. I used it in secret every day. But then, as I told you, when I made my mind to escape, Ramsay flayed her.”

Sansa sighed, and Tyrion squeezed her hands. So she resumed:

“After that I no longer had access to the moon tea. My next bleeding hadn’t come, although it was never actually regular. When Theon and I escaped, I barely managed to get to Castle Black, after the jump off the walls and passing ice-cold river. And I was so terribly scared… That evening I had a massive bleeding, much fiercer than my usual moonblood. There was no maester in Castle Black, but there was the Red Woman, Melisandre. I let her check out that bleeding, she brewed some herbs for me… She told me I might have miscarried, but it would be on a very early stage. Or that due to the stress and exhaustion my moonblood came late and fiercer than usual. The bleeding subdued the next day. It was only after we reclaimed Winterfell that I had a chance to consult it with maester Wolkan. He said he couldn’t tell if I miscarried or not. Since then my cycle kept being irregular, although I never lay with any man after Ramsay. So, to sum up, I am not sure whether I am at all fertile after all I’ve been through. I know it is expected of me to produce the heirs, but I don’t know if I can.”

Tyrion was thoughtful.

“Well, to be perfectly honest, I have no proof I am fertile either.” He shrugged, “And after all, is it a good idea to risk having a dwarven child?”

“Were there many dwarfs in Lannister family?” Sansa asked raising her brow on him.

“Not that I’ve heard of.” Tyrion sighed.

“Well then. I don’t see why that should bother me. It seems that your mother gave birth to a dwarf for no particular reason. I could as well have a dwarven child sired by any tall lord, I suppose.”

Tyrion snorted, “That is rather a cheesy rationalisation.”

“Tyrion, come on.” Now Sansa was suddenly serious, “do you really think it would bother me if our child were a dwarf? I would love that child no matter what.”

(And suddenly Tyrion remembered what Bran told him about his own mother, Joanna. How she loved him, how she named him, how she made sure he would live. And yes, he realised, Sansa would be the same. She would be a loving mother, no matter what.)

He took a deep breath.

“So, you want to force yourself to share my bed,” he summed up, “but you are not even certain if that would be of any effect.”

“Well, as I told you, I am not sure,” Sansa confirmed, slowly, “so in fact I have a feeling I _should_ try, not hoping much though. Also, I have to be certain that this time my marriage is true and unbreakable, and hence no more shams. And also… “ - Sansa stopped, as if ashamed or afraid of confessing something.

“Yes?” Tyrion encouraged her softly, squeezing her hand again, “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

“I don’t want to get your hopes up” she whispered.

Tyrion chuckled quietly, “no worries, my lady. I am no longer hoping for impossible.” He winked at her to lighten the mood.

She looked down, but with a hint of smile. “Well…,” she started “I might have thought, that perhaps… I don’t know… that it could be… not _that_ bad. I am not hoping to enjoy it, but I kind of want to have other memories of the experience, you know?” - she looked at him softly, “I trust you and I thought… I thought I could check whether I am truly broken… or is there anything… fixable.“

Wordlessly, Tyrion bent to kiss her hand.

“I am using you terribly, my lord.” Sansa realised.

“No worries, Your Grace” Tyrion replied “I am here to serve you, in any way you want.”

She smiled, although with a hint of sadness.“So, to sum up. My terrible conditions are that you take me as a reluctant bride, marrying the queen but not becoming the king. I’d expect you to bed me, but most likely with no enjoyment and therefore not very often. And then, to make the things worse, I do not wish to be cheated on.”

At that Tyrion laughed, “Feel safe my lady, I have been faithful to you for five years now with no prospects of any intimacy. I do not intend to go back to my whoremongering days, no matter what we decide here.”

Sansa chuckled at that, but it was clear that she was nervous. Tyrion, on the other hand, was thoughtful. He squeezed her hand again, and said: “But before I make my decision, can I ask you about some aspects of our probable closeness? I need you to be honest, don’t try to spare my feelings or something.”

“Go on. I promise to reply honestly.”

Tyrion took a deep breath, “I understand that you abhor the idea of coupling, but does it bother you… when I hold your hand?”

“What? No, of course not. I actually like it.”

“How about when I kiss your hand?” He inquired.

“I like that too.” Sansa nodded.

“And does… my statue… repel you a lot…in general, I mean?”

“Not at all. Tyrion, look, I’ll tel you what I think.” Sansa looked at him tenderly, “When I was a girl I thought gallant knights had to be fair and tall, but I don’t think that anymore. And you are not so bad looking, all together, I actually find you quite handsome now. Yes, you are short, but on the other hand, I grew up so tall that in fact most men are shorter than me, even Jon. If I were looking for a taller husband, I’d have to find myself another Hound. Or a wildling like Tormund. Or just marry Brienne” - she japed and Tyrion snorted.

“And can you tell me how you felt when you kissed me on the lips in the kitchens?” He finally gained the courage to ask.

Sansa blushed, but smiled gently. She looked down now, embarrassed, and said, “surprisingly good. Your lips are soft and warm.”

Tyrion relaxed a bit, and then explained: “The reason I am asking is that I want to make sure how you feel about physical contact in general. Because sexual intimacy is one thing, but there is also a question of some pure closeness, if I may call it that way. If I am to be your husband, I do not want that wall of awkwardness between us ever again. I want to hold your hand, I want to hug you when you need it, I want you to be comfortable in my presence. I want to rub your feet when they are sore, or to massage away pain in your shoulders after a long and busy day. Or you to do that for me if you want.”

Sansa smiled broadly now, “Yes, Tyrion, I want that too. I assure you that my reluctance towards marital duties do not go with reluctance to any physical contact at all. In fact, I found it very comforting that you let me cry away my pain in your arms a few days ago. And I was happy to hold you when you struggled with yours. I am surprised myself how I just want to _touch_ you - especially that hair of yours. I actually had a dream recently, that I just buried my fingers in your golden curls. That would not be appropriate thing to do for a queen, I guess…”

“You….dreamt of me?” Tyrion was genuinely surprised, “was it a terrible nightmare?” He japed.

“A pleasant dream, that’s what it was” - Sansa said, and added with a sigh: “I don’t get much of those…”

And then, to change the subject: “have you ever dreamt of me, my lord?”

“Yes, many times.” Tyrion replied with impish grin.

“Can you tell me about it?”

“Absolutely not. That would be terribly indecent.”

Sansa blushed, but chortled. “Are all your dreams terribly indecent, my lord?”

“No, I would not say that. I actually recently had one rather chaste dream of you, but it would sound stupid if I told you what it was about.” He seemed a bit embarrassed.

“I wish you knew you could tell me everything, and never feel uncomfortable around me.” Sansa said softly.

“Well, all right then… “ Tyrion decided to try, “I dreamt about a walk with you, in the godswood here in Winterfell. We were walking slowly and I felt strangely tired, but at the same time somehow happy. It was peaceful. It was snowing, but I felt no cold. We held our hands and we said nothing. When we reached the weirwood tree I looked up at you and I realised that your hair was silver. But that did not surprise me at all.”

“Silver.” Sansa scowled, “Like Daenerys’?”

“No.” Tyrion replied softly, “Silver, like grey. Of old age. You were old in my dream and so was I.”

( _And I woke up and cried_ \- he thought but did not say that part out loud).

“Oh” Sansa said. “That would be… nice.”

“So, to sum up my investigation,” Tyrion resumed, “would you consider offering me that, if I agreed to be your husband? To walk through life holding hands and to grow old together, feeling peaceful and comfortable with each other?”

“I would like that very much, Tyrion.”

For a moment, Tyrion was silent. And then he said cautiously: “There’s one more thing I need to ask you.”

She nodded, so he continued, “Five years ago I told you I won’t share your bed until you want me to. Could I perhaps… ask you to grant me the same promise now?”

Sansa looked at him, confused, so he clarified: ”could you give me some time to… I mean: could you not expect me to consummate our marriage immediately, tonight or tomorrow? I won’t keep you waiting long, I promise; I just need some time to… create some closeness between us, I guess.”

“It may not help me anyway to enjoy the experience, if that is your expectation.” Sansa replied sadly.

“It may help me, though.” He said looking in her eyes.

Sansa then nodded and confirmed: “Yes, Tyrion. I will not share your bed until you want me to. And I promise you, my lord,” she added squeezing his hand, “that I won’t ever hurt you.”

Tyrion smiled at that.

“Then I accept your terrible offer. It’s been too long since I messed up with my life, it’s time to get in trouble again.”

_What the hell. Go jump into this abyss, Half-man. Spend the rest of your life in unrequited love with a woman who is actually your wife._

For a moment she stared at him with surprise. Somehow she was convinced he would rather reject her in the end. But on the other hand now she suddenly felt joyful. With a sense of success, but also a hint of fear. Overwhelmed by emotions, she hid herself behind a jape:

“So, my lord husband,” she grinned, “apparently you enjoy getting yourself in trouble. To seal our union, can I get my fingers into your hair already?”

Tyrion laughed at that. “Go for it, my Queen. I heard it is a good luck to rub a dwarf’s head.”

“Is it now?” she eyed him curiously, “Well, with our new arrangement I guess I’ll need all the luck I can get!”

And so she buried her long fingers in his golden curls, touching softly, massaging his scalp and scratching gently. Tyrion’s eyes rolled in pleasure. “Yesss,” he sighed “We both need all the luck we can get.”

_Oh, Imp, you are so. fucked._ \- he thought to himself, melting under her touch.


	13. The Lord of Winterfell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, apparently your comments just make me update sooner and sooner, haha.
> 
> Have you noticed that there is a #SanrionTropes tag in this fic? Well, I intend to explore as many of them as possible in this setting. So, here goes one of the classic ones: “There Was Only One Bed” :D

Before he left to retire in his chamber, Tyrion suddenly realised he forgot about his broken window. And now it was probably too late to find anyone who could fix it.

Sansa saw his distress, as he suddenly paused by the door of her bedroom.

“What is it, my lord?”

“I just realised I forgot about the window I broke earlier in my chamber.” Tyrion admitted, and Sansa’s brow furrowed. “My lord, there was a snowstorm this afternoon. If your window were broken, you may have the room full of snow by now. Let’s check that.” And so, she went to Tyrion’s bedroom with him.

And it was exactly as Sansa suspected. The wind pushed broken window open, and snow was blown into the room. As Tyrion’s bed was not far from the window, now everything was simply wet: the bed, all the furs, pillows, sheets and even the mattress.

“Oh.” Tyrion only said. Sansa secured the broken window with a few extra wooden logs.

“Well. You can’t sleep here tonight, my lord.” She explained, “and as it happens, right now the keep is full of guests. All the chambers that contain beds are taken; I don’t even think we have spare sets of linen available right now.”

Tyrion sighed, defeated. He was rather tired, or even exhausted after their talk. He so much looked forward to nestling himself in a featherbed. “I guess I’ll find myself a blanket and pass the night on a settee somewhere.”

“No, my lord, I won’t allow it.” Sansa’s voice was firm, “we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow and I need you well-rested before we confront my bannermen. There is only one way to achieve that in these circumstances, and that is what we shall do. Come and sleep in my bed tonight, with me.”

“Sansa…!” Tyrion was apparently flabbergasted. But she waved her hand, dismissively, “I am not asking you to _share_ my bed to consummate our newly agreed union! I am asking you to get some decent sleep. My bed is big and comfortable; we can easily sleep side by side not disturbing each other.”

Tyrion considered her offer and found it surprisingly reasonable. After all, he really needed some rest before the big day tomorrow.

“All right…” he said slowly, “Let me just get myself together, wash a bit and change for the night, and I will join you in your bedchamber, Gods help me.”

(After Sansa left, Tyrion indeed prepared himself for the night, which included not only taking a piss, quickly washing himself and changing clothes, but also a quick jerking off, which - he hoped - would prevent him form getting hard immediately after joining Sansa in bed.)

When he came to her chambers, she was already in bed, buried under the furs. There were a cup of fresh water and a burning candle not only at her nightstand, but also on the table besides the other side of the bed. And when Tyrion approached the high bed, ready to awkwardly climb it, he saw she prepared a footstool for him. His heart just melted at those signs of her thoughtfulness.

They both lay down, keeping maximum distance, and tucked furs around themselves. Blew out the candles.

”Good night, my lord.”

“Good night, your grace.”

After a very long time of lying in silence and darkness, while none of them fell asleep, Sansa suddenly asked with a very small voice: “Tyrion… could I hold your hand?”

Only when their fingers intertwined, they both finally relaxed and let the sleep claim them.

—

Tyrion woke up in the morning feeling well-rested and content. Before he opened his eyes he inhaled amazing scent that encircled him. It was _her_ scent. She was so close, still asleep: apparently she moved towards him during the night, and now she occupied most of his half of the bed. She even threw her arm on his torso, her palm resting on his chest.

He looked at her, amused, but did not have much time to enjoy this moment, as she suddenly stirred and then opened her eyes. At fist she seemed relaxed, but as soon as she realised how close they ended up (and that _she_ seemed to had been the one who pushed towards his side) she tensed, panicked, and moved away.

“My lord, I am so sorry!” She whispered, “it seems that I have… invaded your space.”

Tyrion chortled at that, “Oh, my Queen, but that’s a military talk! Invaded my space, indeed. May I remind you that this bed is your independent territory; I am an intruder here, and there is no _my_ space in this case.”

He winked and smiled, trying to lighten the mood. Sansa exhaled, but before she had a chance to relax, she panicked again, as she heard door being open. The maid entered.

Sansa sat up abruptly, and at the same moment Tyrion just dived under the furs. He had to stick close to her, he actually almost wrapped himself around her hips and small of her back, but thanks to that he managed to conceal himself in lumps of furs encircling her. She raised her knees while sitting to create some extra folds and to make sure Tyrion remained out of maid’s site. The girl greeted her, added wood to the hearth, checked out chamber pot, and asked if the queen wished to get up. Sansa dismissed her, and only when the girl left, Tyrion emerged from under the furs, chuckling.

“Now _I_ have most definitively invaded _your_ space, your grace. But I hope you forgive me, as I felt you did not wish to be caught in bed with your Lord Hand. By the way, don’t you think my size may be an advantage for a secret lover? I am most definitively easier to hide than a regular-sized men.”

Sansa narrowed her eyes on him. “My Lord, I was only going to give you an option to reconsider my terrible proposal in a daylight. If a maid saw you in my bed, there would be no choice for us but to announce that we resumed our marriage. As for now, you still have a chance to escape.”

Tyrion grinned at that. “Do I? Or perhaps this is your loophole? Would you like to withdraw your proposal?”

Sansa huffed. “You _wish_.”

Tyrion laughed. “So, it seems we are both determined to proceed with this madness. Very well, so be it, _wife_.”

Sansa slapped his shoulder in feigned indignation at his mocking tone, but grinned all the same. Somehow she felt light and happy at that moment.

**—**

The day passed rather quickly, and the final feast started early - in the afternoon, not in the evening. Next day would be just departures of the guests; all together Sansa thought that the whole meeting was a success. ****

Tyrion decided to stay in his green cloak for this last evening - he was happy to wear something that was decorated with a lion, but not displaying Lannister colours. He felt that Northern lords were about to hate him anyway, and very soon.

He was astonished, though, when he saw Sansa entering the hall. She was wearing a dark green dress with a direwolf embroidered on her chest. The dress was of the same fabric as his cloak - so their clothes matched, and in spite of different sigils they looked as if they were of the same House.

_As if they were husband and wife._

Sansa and Tyrion sat together by the main table. Before the feast started, Sansa ordered wine and ale to be poured to everybody’s cups. Whoever wished to go for something stronger, was served brandy. (This wise move was Tyrion’s idea. He suggested it would be good to put everyone in a good mood with a drink before dropping the "pig-shit" on them).

Sansa had the whole speech prepared. She thanked everyone, she summed up the past three days, and expressed her hopes for the brightest future of the Kingdom of the North.

Everyone cheered, raised their cups and drank the health of the Queen.

Finally, Sansa announced:

“My Lords and Ladies, I am sure that you are aware that everything we celebrate here today was created with a tremendous help of lord Tyrion Lannister, who devoted all his knowledge and energy during past weeks to support the development of our kingdom.”

“To Lord Tyrion Lannister!” The Northmen raised their cups, and Tyrion replied with bow and smile.

“Therefore I hope you will rejoice when I announce that I managed to convince lord Tyrion to resign of a post of the Hand of King Bran and to accept the position of my Lord Hand instead.”

The crowd whispered and murmured, but all together this announcement has not been resented; rather taken with surprise. Lord Manderly was the first to stand up; with somehow forced smile, he stated:

“A wise choice, Your Grace. We all came to appreciate Lord Hand’s experience and we learned to see his kindness. Kings in the North never had a Hand, but you are building the new kingdom, after centuries, and perhaps it is indeed a reasonable move, to appoint an official advisor. At least until you decide to marry… and Lord Tyrion will surely prove equal to the task.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Sansa addressed Lord Manderly politely, “And since you’ve addressed the issue of my marriage… the thing is, I am already married, to Lord Tyrion. It turned out that our marriage was never properly annulled. And after mature deliberation… we decided to keep it valid. Do resume it, that is.”

Dead silence fell in the hall. Everyone stared at Sansa, disbelieving.

Lord Robett Glover was the first to shake off his shock. “Forgive me, Your Grace,” he said, slowly, “I am not sure if I understood correctly. Are you telling us that you decided for Lord Tyrion to be your husband?”

“That is correct.” Sansa replied, her expression ice cold. Tyrion knew her well enough to see that she was terribly nervous, but she made an amazing impression of cool indifference.

Lord Glover’s brow furrowed. He clearly tried to control his anger. “Your Grace, I hesitate to remind you that we have acclaimed you the Queen in the North even though the previous king, Jon, is still alive.”

“That you did, but does that make me your subject, Lord Glover?” Sansa asked, coldly, “Or do you consider yourself some kind of representative of my deceased father? Because otherwise I do not see why I would need your permission to marry, my lord. Not mentioning the fact that I am not actually getting a new husband now. I am reuniting with the one that has been my lawful spouse for the past five years.”

Lord Glover huffed at that. “The rumour says it has never been consummated.” He murmured.

“That, my lord, is most certainly not your business.” At this point Sansa started to show some irritation.

Lord Glover kept silence, but Lord Manderly took a deep breath. “I apologise, your grace,” he resumed, “You are absolutely right, we have no saying in the matter of your private relationship with your former husband. Nevertheless,” his voice sharpened, “I believe it is our business when it comes to who sits on the throne of the North. We chose our Northern Queen and we will not be forced to accept a stranger, a Southerner as the King. You may not impose that on us.”

Tyrion felt it was time for him to interfere. The atmosphere in the hall became much too dense.

“My lord, let me reply you,” he addressed Lord Manderly politely, “There obviously has been a misunderstanding. Just as the Queen announced earlier, I have accepted a position of her Hand. As a husband, I believe, I may be called Queen’s consort, but I do not intend to be the king.”

The crowd exhaled and Sansa relaxed a bit. Apparently the worst fear of the Northmen was that Tyrion would take the crown.

Lord Manderly also seemed less angry now, but he still looked concerned. “I see, my Lord. Well, that puts this announcement in a slightly different light. But forgive me, I have to raise one more issue. I am afraid that marital arrangements in case of a royal couple are no longer their private affair. If you decide to consummate your union, it may result in Her Grace giving birth to the heirs to the Northern Crown.”

“I actually hope I will.” Sansa replied, gritting her teeth, and the tension in the hall increased again. Tyrion clenched his fists. He now had to remain calm, although he knew what was coming. Now those Northern lords would throw his dwarfism in his face.

And just as he expected, it was lord Glover this time who turned to him directly, “Forgive me, my lord. We have nothing against you, personally. But as you may sire the heirs of our Queen, I can’t hold my tongue. Because you would expect us to accept your offspring as future rulers in the North. And we may just… not be able to accept them in this role.”

“And why not?” Tyrion almost barked. At this point he was the one who got angry.

“My lord, I don’t have to tell you, who you are.” Robett Glover narrowed his eyes on him.

“Oh, yes, I very well know who I am. But why don’t you tell me anyway.” Tyrion spoke slowly, suppressing irritation ( _Say it, you old fool. Tell me in my face that I am a dwarf_.)

“Well, you are…” Lord Glover clearly was uncomfortable, but determined, “forgive me, my lord. You are _a Lannister._ ”

Tyrion looked at him surprised; he did not see that coming. Recognising his reaction, Robett Glover clarified: “My lord, I really do not want to use your name against you. There was lots of bad blood between the Starks and the Lannisters, but you and your brother fought bravely here in Winterfell, I heard. Alas, still, as I told you, the North would never accept the Lannister king. Whether it is you, or your son by our Queen.”

Tyrion exhaled in relief. He even managed to slightly smile. “Of course, my lord, I would not expect anything else. Let me assure you, though, that no Lannister is about to push himself onto the Northern throne. Queen Sansa will keep her name, and all the children we may have would be Starks as well.”

For the shortest moment Sansa threw a look of surprise and gratitude at Tyrion, but she quickly recomposed herself. (She felt guilty before that somehow during their earlier conversation she forgot to mention one more terrible condition: that their children would be Starks, not Lannisters. It was perhaps implied in the arrangement of her being the Queen and him just the Prince Consort, but still she felt she should have made it clear. But apparently, she didn’t have to, after all; Tyrion said it now so naturally, as if it were obvious).

Lord Manderly raised his eyebrows and then murmured, “I gather that the lords of Westerlands would be as thrilled to have a Stark at Casterly Rock as we are on the prospect of having a Lannister in Winterfell.”

“Westerlands is not my concern anymore, my lord,” Tyrion explained, “As a head of House Lannister I recognised the newborn child of Sir Brienne of Tarth as a trueborn posthumous son of my elder brother. As such, little Jaime Lannister is now the heir of Casterly Rock.”

Everyone gasped and turned to look at Brienne, who sat by one of the side tables. She blushed furiously but held her head high.

After a moment of silence Lord Manderly sighed and raised his cup. So did Lord Glover, and the rest followed.

“My lord,” Robett Glover said warily, nonetheless, “as you have given up your own inheritance, and as long as you do not wish take over the Northern throne, and also considering the fact that you have been married to our Queen long before we chose her, we probably can’t object to your union now. There is nothing left for us to say except that we wish your marriage to be agreeable. Let me stress though,” he added with a hint of warning in his voice, “that the North is protective towards the Queen and we would not wish to see her mistreated in any way.”

“Of course, my lord,” Tyrion replied, “I’d expect nothing less but fierce devotion of all of you towards your Queen. Considering the fact that you personally did not support her in her fight against the Boltons, and somehow I don’t exactly remember you here when we faced the dead, I am happy to see you finally managed to find enough decency and protectiveness to at least threaten your Queen’s husband, as her real enemies have already been defeated without your help. Well done, my lord.” He mockingly raised his cup.

Lord Glover gritted his teeth while the others chuckled under their breaths. Robett Glover was not exactly popular in the North and Sansa was relieved to see that most of her bannermen seemed to be rather on board with her at this point. She quickly gave the servants a sign to refill everybody’s cups and to start serving the food.

Apparently mocking Robett Glover was a brilliant move: by doing so, Tyrion gained sympathy of most of Northerners, as temperamental lord of Deepwood Motte did not enjoy wide respect. Soon enough the atmosphere turned less formal and gradually lords and ladies of the North started enjoying the feast. By the end of it almost everyone congratulated Sansa and Tyrion, raising their cups repeatedly and drinking their health.

Frequent and prompt refilling of cups resulted in getting the party rather worn out after just a few hours of the feast, which met Sansa's expectations. Tyrion and herself did not drink much, so they stayed sober until the end of the evening. Sansa was happy to officially close the feast when it was not yet midnight. But before she bid everyone goodnight, she leaned toward Tyrion.

“My lord, would you walk me to my chambers?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not good at *the plot*, and I am aware that those necessary bits of social/political storylines may appear very superficial here. I am afraid I just want to focus on Sanrion relationship, so perhaps I have made the Northmen come around their arrangement too easily here… well, sorry, that’s how it is going to be in this story, bear with me. I hope you’ll still enjoy it, anyway.
> 
> Stay tuned. Some smutty stuff is coming...


	14. The Queen and Her Lord’s Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we begin. They take it slow, you know. They need to take it slow, but it will develop. ;)

When they got into her chambers, she immediately let go: dropped her icy mask, fell on her knees and caught Tyrion into tight embrace. “Thank you so much,” she whispered, while he tried to get himself together, overwhelmed by her closeness, her scent, her touch.

“Er, for what..?” he asked feebly.

Sansa pulled away and looked him in the eyes “For everything. For winning the Northern Lords, for declaration of naming our children Starks. Did you mean that? We never talked about it.”

“Of course I meant it. And we did talk about it, though more hypothetically: you said yourself you need to produce Stark heirs. As about the Northern Lords, I think I have lot more work to do before I win them. But I assure you I will do my best to succeed.”

“Well, for a start you splendidly showed Lord Glover his place.” Sansa chuckled and so did Tyrion. “Yes, that was rather satisfying.” They both grinned, looking at each other.

Being so close to Sansa and with their eyes at the same level made Tyrion felt dizzy. She was so beautiful, her gaze pure and bright, her eyes as blue as sky on a sunny spring day. And her appreciation for his wits made his heart swell. He looked at her in awe for a moment, and before he knew, a sigh slipped of his lips: “Gods, I _so_ want to kiss you now.”

“Then kiss me. It’s not always have to be me who kisses you.” Sansa winked and leaned in invitingly.

“Yes, but…” Tyrion smirked “I want to kiss you… differently. I want to give you, um… a proper husband kiss.”

Sansa looked at him intrigued. “Go on, then.”

He cupped her face and brushed his lips against hers. “Relax your mouth” he whispered, and then, softly: “open up a little”. She obliged and he moved his mouth against hers. Then licked her lips. Then delicately pushed his tongue inside her parted mouth for a moment. And then: “Give me your tongue, darling” he murmured, and so she let her tongue meet his, they licked each other; the sensation was _amazing_.

Sansa was shocked - no-one ever kissed her like that. Joffrey and Ramsay just pressed their lips against hers; perhaps Littlefinger was slightly more aggressive - he licked her, but she always kept her mouth shut. Now suddenly she got into that mutual movement of mouths and tongues: it was new to her, but somehow turned out to be natural. And oh-so-pleasurable.

When they parted, they both panted and their lips were swollen. Sansa looked at Tyrion bewildered and saw him smirking smugly. She felt embarrassed and also realised that she was very hot. Her cheeks were burning.

“Is it just me, or is it hot in here?” She asked.

“It is hot.” Tyrion confirmed and dared to unbutton top three buttons of his doublet. Sansa suddenly asked: “did you manage to repair that window in your chamber?”

“No. I did not have time for that today.”

“Then you are staying here for the night. And this time do not hide in the morning.” Sansa sounded rather satisfied. Tyrion was absolutely not going to complain. “Therefore, “ she continued, “I guess we may get more comfortable. Would it be terrible offensive if I got rid of that heavy gown?”

“Go ahead, get rid of it” Tyrion smiled,

“Then you should take off not only your cloak, but this leather doublet as well.” Sansa suggested.

Tyrion would be more than happy to get out of his long-padded doublet, but there was one problem, and not a small one: during their kiss he got inexcusably hard. If he took off his doublet now, no way she wouldn’t notice that bulge in his breeches. On the other hand, he didn’t want to discourage her from taking her own gown off. He decided to take a risk and said:

“I gather I could get indecent too, and strip down to, let’s say, my shirt and breeches? Because I must say, right now I am in desire of getting rid of not only of that doublet, but most of all - of my shoes.”

“Oh, yes” Sansa nodded enthusiastically, suddenly at ease “I’m getting rid of my shoes too. Then we could have a bit more wine on the settee by the fire, what do you say?”

“Let’s do that!” - he unbuttoned the doublet, but before he took it off, he bent to take off his shoes and simultaneously tug his shirt out of his breeches. He gathered that pulling the shirt out, however sloppy, would help a little in concealing his groin area; if he moved to sit down quickly, and kept his cup on his lap, he might succeed in keeping that awkward cockstand out of her sight.

And so they stripped - Tyrion to his undershirt and breeches, Sansa to her shift - and they took off their shoes. Tyrion took off his socks as well, but Sansa remained in her thick black woollen stockings - even though her shift was long below her knees. After a few sips of wine Tyrion felt bold and decided to try his luck in jokingly manner: “My lady, my queen, aren’t you still hot in those stockings? I assure you, it won’t be any less decent if you just take them off, I actually think I saw your calves once or twice when we were married long time ago.”

Sansa saddened.

“Well, I’d had no objections to expose my calves to my husband if they were as they used to be.” Tyrion looked at her questionably, so she clarified “My legs are unfortunately quite scarred now. I do not cover myself out of modesty, I just don’t like to show those ugly scars.”

At that Tyrion immediately sobered. He got angry and sad at the same time.

_Fucking Ramsay._

The only advantage of this was that suddenly he was no longer aroused. He put away his cup, stood up and turned towards her.

“Sansa.” He said firmly, taking her hands “that can’t be. I respect your modesty and I will not push you to anything indecent, but I will not accept that you are ashamed of any part of your body. Not towards me. And scars? Look at me, my face is cut in half!”

Sansa did not seem convinced. “First of all, you’ve gained it in a battle. It only proves that you are a brave warrior. Meanwhile, my scars came from abuse I suffered form a man who was supposed to be my family.”

“Sansa…” Tyrion said softly “you don’t know how I got this scar, do you?”

“What do you mean? I do know, it was the battle of Blackwater. You’ve saved Kings Landing then. You’ve saved all of us.”

“Well, thank you for that. But I understand you don’t know who cut me this way.”

“Some soldier of Stannis…?” Sansa tried.

“No, Sansa.” Tyrion shook his head, “It was Ser Mandon Moore, a member of the Kingsguard. He was a knight who was supposed to fight under my command.”

“WHAT?”

“Cersei arranged that, or Jofftey.” Tyrion said quietly. “They used an opportunity of a battle to get rid of me, to have me killed. Pod saved me: he killed that man and carried me away from the battlefield.”

Sansa looked at him in horror. “That’s so… oh, Gods, Tyrion, I never knew. But then, “ she added, “that makes you even more admirable. Not only you led the city’s defence, you had your own men against you. For me it only means you are a true hero.”

“Thank you, Sansa,” he said softly, “then please accept that I find you a hero as well. I was scarred by my own sister’s attempt to kill me. You were abused by a man who was forced on you. And not only you survived, you took your revenge on him. I never took my revenge on Cersei.”

Sansa did not know how to respond. So, he continued: “In my eyes, you are a hero, Sansa. And I think you should not be ashamed of scars you’ve gained in this battle. You should be proud of them.”

She leaned twards him, cupping his face. Then she did the most unexpected thing: she started pressing soft kisses against his scar. On his forehead, on a bridge of his nose, on his cheek. When she was done, she silently bent and took off both of her stockings.

Her calves were indeed full of small white scars. That bastard must have cut her legs. Probably there used to be some other marks, but they’ve healed. Tyrion knew very well that only some percent of bruises lasted more than a year. Only some of them lasted a lifetime. Initially there were probably much more.

And then suddenly the most brazen idea came up to Tyrion’s mind.

“You kissed my scar.” He whispered, “May I kiss yours?”

Thoughtfully, she nodded.

He silently, reverently, bent over and started kissing scars on her calves. Just as she did with his face.

(He never really managed to comprehend what came over him at that point and how on Earth any of what happened next could have occurred _at all._ What made him do what he did, say what he said? Exhaustion, excitement and _relief_ after everything that happened during past 24 hours probably disconnected him from his brain, so all his blood went elsewhere. And in those cases, unfortunately, he had a bad habit of thinking with his cock instead.)

And so, he moved to her thighs. There were some scars there, too.

She did not protest, so he dared to lick them with his tongue.

She gasped.

“Tyrion…” Sansa whispered feebly, “what are you… what is this… what is going on?”

Stroking gently her calves and knees he delicately brushed his fingertips up to her thighs. He looked up at her, his gaze warm.

“What is it, darling?” He asked softly.

“I…I don’t know…” she confessed. Something was wrong with her, clearly. She felt dizzy and strange tingling pooled in her lower belly.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked.

“No…”

He bent and kissed her knee. She sucked in a sharp breath and decided she had to regain the control. At least try to figure out what was happening to her.

“You make me feel somehow anxious, and… it is as if I wanted something, I needed… I just have no idea what.”

Tyrion stroked her knees gently. “Isn’t that what you feel when you know you are in need of… release?”

Sansa looked at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

“When you touch yourself.” he supplied gently.

Sansa was still confused. “I honestly don’t know what you are talking about.” She was so sincere Tyrion realised it was not a lie out of modesty. It seemed that she really never discovered any carnal satisfaction whatsoever. Twice married and repeatedly raped, she never experienced an orgasm.

“Sansa…” he tried to hide his sadness and anger, because all that was really unfair, “are you telling me you never had any physical pleasure, not even by your own hand?”

“I never knew I could” she confessed, “besides, I do not think I am capable of that at all. I know boys do that, but I’m pretty sure ladies do not.”

“Oh, I assure you, ladies do. And I am absolutely certain you are capable of experiencing pleasure.”

“How can you know that?”

“You clearly underestimate your capabilities when it comes to this area. For example, I already know that you are an _amazing_ kisser.” He simply said, and that was truly the best he could have done. Warmth fled over Sansa’s body at his praise. He was so experienced, he lay with the best-trained professional lovers all over Westeros, and yet he just told her _she_ was an amazing kisser? She felt bold and proud of herself, and it helped her to act out bravely.

(And there was one strange thing that Sansa couldn’t really comprehend; it was because Tyrion asked her to give him some time to consummate their marriage. It made her feel safe: it meant that whatever was going on, whatever they would do now, Tyrion would not surprise her with demanding that they should complete an actual intercourse. That feeling of safety emboldened her, especially as the kiss turned out to be surprisingly pleasurable. So, if Tyrion were willing to get close to her, physically - without actually consummating their union just yet - she was astonished to discover that it would be _all right_ for her.

Also, on some subconscious level, Sansa was tempted… to seduce him a little. She was not aware of that, not really, but somehow his refusal to bed her struck a cord of her personal ambition. And also, she always had that bad habit of craving for something only because she couldn’t have it.)

“So tell me about that pleasure, my lord.”

Tyrion smiled at her. “It’s simple, you can have it by touching yourself, my lady.” He slowly stroked her leg up her inner thigh, and when he reached the top of it, he delicately brushed his fingers against her smallclothes, covering her sex. That gave her unexpectedly intense feeling, she actually jumped a little, gasping. She was terrified to feel that for some reason she was getting … wet? Over there? But it was also _exciting_.

“Sansa.” Tyrion addressed her with his low, deep voice, “I can give it to you right now if you want me to.”

“What exactly you would do to me?” She needed to know first.

“I would caress you with my fingers.” He replied.

“Only fingers?” Her voice indicated that she wanted to be sure noting more was to be involved.

“Yes, only fingers.” Tyrion reassured her, although personally he would very much like to introduce her to his tongue as well. But he sensed it was too soon for that. He would be lucky if she agreed to take her smallclothes off, and then he should probably keep his ministrations under her shift and keep his gaze on her face. She did not seem to be ready to expose her most private areas to his look yet, not mentioning his mouth.

“Let’s give it a try.” she agreed, but it was clear she was tense and nervous.

“Relax, darling.” Tyrion said soothingly. “I will stop any time you want me to.” He resumed stroking her legs and she relaxed, pushing her back against the sofa, getting comfortable. He looked at her warmly, reassuringly. She knew she could trust him.

His fingers brushed against laces of her smallclothes. “Can I take this off?” He asked and she nodded. He undid the laces and pulled her panties down, not braking their gaze. Sansa felt thankful that he did not ogle her. She thought it would be good to keep looking in his eyes all the time… but when he went on with his ministrations, she found it impossible to keep her head up and her eyes open. Her head just lolled back and her eyes shut closed. She got lost in this new, unknown sensation.

Tyrion stroke her folds gently with one hand, the other caressing her hip. He touched her entrance which for some reason got really slick now. Then he gathered some of that slickness with his fingers and moved up, concentrating on rubbing top of her sex. It was as if some magic nub appeared there, spot of pleasure she never knew existed. Tyrion massaged it with even, circular movements and suddenly she felt that mysterious tenseness in her belly increasing. Instinctively, she spread her legs a little, and arched her center towards his hand, moaning. Tyrion increased pressure and speed of his movements. And suddenly, it happened. A wave of unknown, exciting pleasure went through her whole body, giving her goosebumps on the nape and curling her toes. She cried out in awe and surprise. He continued massaging her for a moment, slower, while she was coming down from her unexpected peak.

Afterwards, Tyrion couldn’t help himself, and when she lay there, panting, with her eyes still shut, he quickly licked his fingers that a moment ago were buried in slickness of her pussy. He couldn’t wait to taste her arousal directly from her cunt, but that was for another time. Still, he was amazed how responsive she turned out to be just for his touch. He honestly did not expect her to come so hard and so quickly. And she got so _fucking_ wet. It seemed that Sansa Stark was much more passionate creature that anyone ever suspected, herself including.

Now, he kissed her knee reverently and gently rearranged down her shift.

“How are you, darling?” he asked softly.

“I am speechless” Sansa replied with small voice, “I never knew… thank you.”

“Thank _you_ , my queen, for letting me pleasure you.” Tyrion said with a gallant smile.

“Now what?” she asked weakly, stil raw and panting.

“Now you look like you could use some sleep. As do I; it was a long day. Let’s go to bed, shall we?”

She looked at him, shy and nervous again. “But shouldn’t I somehow… repay you, my lord?”

Tyrion’s eyes darkened with anger. “No, Sansa, you never should feel you have to _repay_ me in any way. I don’t want that kind of attitude between us, ever, do you hear me?”

She nodded, and he calmed down a little. “You never owe me anything, please remember that, Sansa. It is my privilege to please you, and after all you’ve been through it is most important for me that you understand I am not expecting you to reciprocate anything due to some twisted sense of duty. Many husbands use their wives this way, but I am really not _that_ kind of arsehole.”

Sansa smiled warmly at him, full of gratitude. She could not help herself though to pick up the jape hidden in his last sentence. “And then what kind of arsehole _are_ you, my lord?”

“The kind that stuck goat dung into his uncle’s shoes at the age of 5, and tormented his elder sister in various gross ways.” he winked at her and she giggled. That was such a pretty sound: her little laugh. For a moment she looked like a happy teenager, not an icy and serious Queen in the North.

Tyrion looked at her in awe. “Gods, you are so amazing.” he whispered. And then, to mask his awkward admiration, he tugged her arm. “Come on, wife. Let’s go get some sleep. You’re welcome to invade my space, if you wish”. She giggled again and before he knew they were both under the furs. He lay on his back and to his surprise Sansa just unceremoniously nestled herself against his chest.

“Is this all right?” She asked sensing that he tensed, and so he tried to relax, not wishing to scare her off. “Well, the invasion clearly moved on. I am afraid now my honour demands a response.” Saying that he stretched out his arm, and put it around her shoulder, embracing tightly. “What do you say for that?”

“I say we can have truce on these conditions.” She murmured pushing herself even closer, and relaxing against him with a content sigh.

Tyrion just couldn’t believe his luck when he was falling asleep listening to the even breath of his wife sleeping by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, is Sansa a pillow princess here? (<3 @thistleandthorn)  
> But don't worry, our boy Tyrion will get some too, and soon.


	15. Two in the Tub

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand here comes another #Sanrion Trope: Walking In On Tyrion In a Bath. I hope you enjoy :*
> 
> (I am aware this may need further editing. Interestingly, some typos or errors I spot only during 8th or 9th reading :O  
> I try to correct them, so I hope whatever is wrong here, I will correct it later, but I feel I need to apologise in advance...)

Tyrion woke up at dawn at the verge of spilling seed in his breeches.

Last night he got hard, of course, while pleasuring his wife, but somehow he managed to conceal his cockstand, and Sansa was probably too distracted to notice. When they cuddled to sleep he was careful to keep his groin in some distance from her body, and hoped to just suppress the whole thing with the power of his mind.

Unfortunately, when he finally fell asleep his body decided to betray him. Some dirty dream he could not even remember now (although it most definitively featured Sansa) brought him almost to a climax, and to make things worse, Sansa actually threw her leg over him in her sleep. And, he remembered, she was wearing only her shift, that now dangerously hiked up her thigh… she did not put her smallclothes back on yesterday. The thought of such proximity of her bare arse was almost his undoing.

“Fuck, Sansa” he muttered and decided to take off to avoid wetting her sheets; he gently pushed her leg away, and jumped out of bed. He wanted to sneak out in search of a nearest privy and to come back as soon as possible, hoping she would not wake up (if she did, he would just say he went to take a piss). But the moment he left her bedroom, the most unexpected accident happened.

Apparently, at dawns some maids ran the corridors collecting contents of chamber pots into buckets. Apparently, this particular maid was still half-asleep, and not used to look out for dwarfs wondering around. She did not notice him… and she just bumped into him.

And she spilled the content of her bucket all over him.

“Seven hells!” Tyrion swore, and the maid froze in horror. Then she burst into tears. “M’lord, m’lord, I am SO SORRY!” She cried; Tyrion took a deep breath. He regretted it immediately, as the stench was hard to bare. He did not want to make a fuss though, because he situation was rather humiliating, and most of all he did not want anyone to see him right now, so it was important to make the maid shut up. Also, he wasn’t entirely sure if Sansa intended the whole keep to know that he spent the night in her chamber, so he decided not to raise an alarm. Through gritted teeth, he said: “Yes, I’d assume you would not intentionally spill the filth on the Lord of Winterfell.”

“No, m’lord, I would never! I did not expect you here, oh Gods, I’m so sorry!” The girl was devastated, but after what she said Tyrion suddenly felt the need to explain his presence in Queen’s chamber: “Um, well, I had to stay here, as in my chamber the window is broken. It should be fixed, by the way.”

“M’lord, I’ll see to that immediately” the maid promised.

“First of all, if you please, see to preparing a bath for me. I’ll go to my room now to get clean clothes, and these you will take to the laundry.”

“Yes, m’lord” the girl stopped sobbing, hoping that she may not loose her job after all.

“I do not wish to wake Her Grace, and I certainly do not want to present myself to her in my current state. But when you go there after my bath is ready, you will explain to the Queen yourself what had happened.”

“Yes, m’lord.”

“Let’s go then.”

\-- 

Sansa lied awake and shook nervously, distressed. She woke up some time ago, when Tyrion was still asleep. She realised that somehow in her sleep she threw her leg on him, and it felt most inappropriate. She wanted to withdraw it gently, but then he started to stir, so she froze, pretending to be still asleep. Unfortunately, when he woke up, he muttered “Fuck, Sansa”, moved her leg away and jumped out of the bed. He left the chambers and then she heard some muffled voices - as if he talked to someone outside the room. Then they both went away, and Sansa was left to her thoughts.

She felt _so_ humiliated. Obviously, she overstepped some boundaries. She threw herself on him, and he got terrified and repulsed when he woke up. He cursed and used the first opportunity to flee. What if he also resented her for what happened last night? Sansa felt tears gathering under her lids. But then the maid entered her room, so Sansa shut her eyes quickly, pretending to be still asleep.

“Your grace…?” The maid murmured, checking if she was awake, but trying not to be the one to actually wake her up if she was not. Sansa decided to keep pretending. The maid sighed as if with relief, checked her chamber pot, threw some wood to the hearth and left.

Sansa took some time to get her thoughts together and finally with heavy heart she got up and put on a dressing gown. She did not want to leave any misunderstandings between her and Tyrion. She decided to talk to him. Perhaps he just went back to his chamber to dress for the day.

When she entered Tyrion’s bedroom, she was surprised to see a man busy fixing the broken window. “Good morning, Your Grace,” he greeted her respectfully, “this will be done in no time, I’d fix it before but Lord Lannister only now gave the order.”

Sansa nodded, turned around and left the room quickly. That was just too much, and she felt she was going to burst into tears in a moment. Not only did Tyrion leave her in a hurry, he also made sure his own room was usable again. No doubt he did that because he did not wish to share her bed anymore.

At this point her priority was to hide before tears ran down her face. The Queen should never be seen crying. She just stormed across the corridor and pushed the first door leading to an empty room. Storming inside, she shut the door and simply sunk to the floor, letting out a sob.

“Sansa!? What happened?” Tyrion’s concerned voice made her lift up her head and look around. And then she saw him. He was in the middle of this room, sitting in a tub. Taking a bath, apparently.

_Perhaps washing off the unpleasant sensation of sharing her bed._

Uncontrolled series of sobs shook her body.

“Sansa, please,” Tyrion pleaded “ Come here and talk to me, don’t make me get out of this tub and scare you off with my glorious wet naked body.”

_Even in distress he still mocked himself._

Reluctantly, Sansa approached the tub and sat at the floor by the edge. Luckily the water was milky with soap and bath salts, so she could not see most of his body, only upper part of his chest. Tyrion was nervous, but clearly what troubled her was more important to him than his own discomfort.

“What happened, why are you crying?”

She gathered her courage and confessed:

“I am sorry if I have scarred you away, my lord. I cried because I found out you decided not to share a bed with me again.”

“WHAT?” Tyrion was genuinely surprised “why would you think that, for all the Gods?”

“Well, you woke up, you swore, and you fled out of my chamber. You never came back, but gave the orders that your window should be fixed. I can read the message from this, I assure you.”

“Oh, Gods, you were awake…?” Tyrion hid his face in his palms. “But it was _so_ not what you think, Sansa…”

“Then what was that?”

“The maid didn’t tell you, did she?”

“Tell me _what_!?”

Tyrion sighed. He ran his palms through his face. “I left to privy and I intended to get back immediately, but when I got out from your chamber a maid bumped into me and spilled the content of her bucket all over me.” Sansa looked at Tyrion with horror, so he explained: “I couldn’t get back to you smelling like that, so I ordered a bath and told her to explain it to you. Also, the issue of my broken window somehow came up, so I told her to get it fixed. But most of all, she was supposed to tell you what happened!”

“I pretended to be asleep when she came.” Sansa sighed, “I did not want to talk… I was upset about the way you left the bed.”

Tyrion understood he could not get out of this situation only with “I left to privy” story. 

“Well, yes….” He took a deep breath, “I apologise for my crude language. I swore not with intention of cursing you, it was mere an expression of… an overwhelming sense of excitement I developed due to, err…the proximity of your glorious body.”

Sansa looked at him suspiciously. “Meaning?”

_Of course, it could not have been that easy._

“Meaning…” he shifted in the tub uncomfortably “I woke up and found myself inappropriately aroused, so I decided to leave the bed before I lost my control.”

“And what would happen if... you lost your control?” Sansa asked quietly “what would you… do to me?”

At that question blood rushed to Tyrion’s head.

“Shit, Sansa!” now he got seriously frustrated, “I would not do anything TO you! I know you’ve had your experience with fucked-up cunts, but come on, have I ever abused you in any way?”

“No, never!” Sansa reassured him quickly.

“I would never hurt you Sansa, please do not doubt that!”

“I don’t doubt that, you have always been kind to me!” - Sansa now felt _so_ guilty. Tyrion sighed, his eyes closed. After he calmed down, he explained slowly: “By loosing my control I meant I would spill my seed in my breeches like a greenboy. I would most likely wet not only my pants but also your sheets. I was afraid that after that you would not let me stay for the night again.”

 _Oh_.

Sansa smiled gently, blushed a little, and looked down.

“I feel surprisingly comfortable sleeping with you.” She confessed, “And I am grateful for your presence by my side. Should anything like that happened, I’d take it as a compliment, my lord.”

Having said that, Sansa looked up at him tenderly. His gaze was full of surprise and gratitude.

Sansa took a look at her husband in a bath. He was so vulnerable in his nakedness. His face was familiar, his gaze warm. His eyebrows were expressive, his green eyes were emotional. She could not remember why exactly she ever used to think he was ugly.

His lips were so sensuous. She remembered how he kissed her.

His arms were stunted, but suddenly appeared strong. She remembered how he held her.

His fingers were thick and short, but she remembered how he touched her gently, how he gave her pleasure.

And there was his neck, which she suddenly wanted to kiss.

And there was his chest, covered with curled dark-blonde hair, which she suddenly wanted to touch.

Sansa realised that she was not afraid of his body anymore. She was not repelled either. She actually liked it.

_What was there beneath the clouded water?_

His hair was not yet wet. That was a very good excuse.

“Could I wash your hair, husband?” She asked coyly. 

Tyrion nodded.

She took off her dressing gown (the sleeves would soak wet, so she decided to stay just in her shift) and applied soap into his curls. He pushed his back against the tub, arched his head, closed his eyes. She massaged his scalp. He let out a small moan.

“Move forward and get your head down” she said after a while and he obliged. She was going to reach the back of his head… she sat at the rim of the tub.

And then she saw his back.

It was covered with scars that indicated clearly that he had been whipped some time ago.

She looked at it in horror. Those were not scars gained in a battle, it was an evidence of some violent abuse.

“Tyrion…” she finally whispered, “has someone… lashed you?”

He turned his head around. “Oh, that” he said matter-of-factly, “yes, well, I told you I was sold as a slave. Slaves get beaten sometimes, for no particular reason.”

She swallowed dry. She was fussing about her own scars, she was frustrated about having been abused. Meanwhile, Tyrion experienced similar physical violence - at least in the aspect of being whipped... On one hand she was very sorry he had to endure that, but on the other hand it was strangely comforting: it appeared he could truly understand what she’s been through, after all.

“We were kissing each other’s scars yesterday” she said softly, “shall we make it a rule? Any new scar revealed, it should be kissed, what do you say?”

Tyrion smiled. “I’d like that very much.”

Sansa silently bent, sitting at the edge of the tub. She started delicately kissing scars on her husband’s back.

And then… she slipped.

With a big splash she fell into the tub.

\--

Sansa was shocked and embarrassed. She found herself in a tub full of water - well, her butt was most definitively in the tub, while her legs were still at the rim. Her white shift soaked and got somehow transparent. She was not ready to get naked in front of Tyrion, not mentioning the fact that the mere falling into a tub this way was simply humiliating.

To restore a little bit of her dignity, she decided it was safer to just dive in, instead of getting out and exposing her arse in a wet shift (because she still did not wear any smallclothes since he took them off yesterday). She almost pushed poor Tyrion out of that tub while she got in with her legs and tried to cover herself entirely beneath the water.

Tyrion grabbed the rims of the tub to keep himself stable. He turned around so now they were facing each other. He seemed to be very amused.

“My Queen, are you all right?” he laughed and she felt at ease. His laugh was not of mocking kind; he laughed at the situation, but not exactly at _her_. It was kind, and she had enough sense of humour to admit that the situation _was_ funny, after all.

“Well, thankfully the water is still warm” she replied and he grinned. She was now lying in the tub to keep her breasts under water, and he was curled up at the other side of the tub, almost pushed out. Neither of them was comfortable. Tyrion decided to put her out of her misery.

“Sansa, as we are both here, perhaps we should try to, errr… rearrange somehow. I propose that you could get up a bit and sit with your back against the tub, and I would turn around and lean against you. How does that sound?”

Sansa realised that he was basically proposing that she could sit up comfortably, and he would turn his back on her so she was not embarrassed by the fact that the wet shift revealed her breasts. She felt… grateful.

"Of course," she agreed, and a moment later they re-arranged themselves in the tub. She felt so at ease that she opened her legs and he nestled between them against her body covered with wet shift. He pressed his back against her chest and rested his head on her shoulder. She cradled him with her arms. His small body was surprisingly comfortable to hold this way: he fitted in her arms perfectly.

Sansa felt overwhelmed by mixed emotions. A few moments ago she felt devastated, thinking that Tyrion rejected her this morning. Then she felt guilty for accusing him of that. Then her heart sunk at the revelation about his slavery experience - but discovering his scars both pained her and comforted her in reference to her own insecurities about her body. Then she got mostly embarrassed by falling into his tub! But now she actually felt quite comfortable.

On the other hand, she still felt raw after last night’s experience, and at the same time she felt unease about his morning discomfort. After all, he was known of having certain carnal needs, even if he suppressed them for past few years. Perhaps _because_ he suppressed them, it was even worse for him now? Sansa was well aware of how her beauty aroused men, and despise Tyrion’s reassurings that she owed him nothing, she thought the situation was rather unfair for him. She took her pleasure from his hands, then slept cuddled against him, and even threw her bare leg on his body - no wonder he was in need of release.

And on top of all that, now she found herself strangely attracted to the closeness of his body, to his scent. She craved to touch him. _That_ was mostly disturbing.

Tyrion didn’t exactly have any plan when he proposed they rearranged in the tub. The situation was still to be resolved: probably he should just close his eyes and let his wife get out of this bath without ogling her. But the trouble was, he did not want her to get out.

For some time they just stayed like this. He felt her breath against his ear.

And then she kissed his ear.

And then she moved her palms, stroking his chest.

And _fuck_ , of course. He got hard again.

To make things worse, her hands moved down, caressing his belly beneath the water.

And then she - accidentally? - touched his shaft.

He hissed.

She panicked and withdrew her hand.

He groaned.

She asked timidly: “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” He replied softly, “that was most pleasurable.”

Sansa decided to deal with all those disturbing feelings. She was done being a timid little bird, for some time now her attitude was to always be brave. Queen should not wait for the issues to resolve themselves. Queen must act. _Seven hells_.

She felt bold and closed her palm around his shaft. He was rock hard by now. He also seemed _so big_ in her hand, but she tried not to muse on that too much. His size terrified her, but she decided to fight this fear.

“Help me out” she whispered. Tyrion was not entirely sure of what was happening here, but at this point he lost the ability to form a coherent thought, so he gave up and decided not to analyse if that was a good idea or not. He was too weak to play the responsible one here. He lost it already when she breathed to his ear and touched his chest. So now he just enveloped her palm with his own. Showed her how to squeeze him, how to pump. It was a very short affair: just a moment later he threw his head back against her, and with a groan “Oh, Sansa!” he came in her hand, spilling his seed under water. Thankfully, his ejaculation was not strong enough to form embarrassing fountain above the surface, but that was only because he already had one release just a moment earlier (he had to get rid of that morning tension, and he did immediately when got into his bath, before Sansa came into the room).

They sat there for a while in silence, tensed. Then simultaneously, they both asked “Are you all right?” At that, they both giggled and relaxed. Tyrion turned his head to look at her face, his back still pressed against her chest, and she tilted her head to meet his gaze.

“I am very much all right, thank you, Sansa”.

“I’m all right too.” Sansa whispered, surprised.

At this moment suddenly the door opened and Ser Brienne entered the room. She looked around and froze when she spotted a tub with the Queen and the Lord Hand inside. She blushed furiously and immediately turned away, to avoid looking at the embarrassed couple. She did not leave the room though, but said with shaking voice: “Your Grace, my Lord, please accept my apology for interrupting. I had no idea I’d find you both here. I was looking for Queen Sansa because your guests, lords and ladies, gathered for breakfast and are awaiting you in the great hall.”

“Oh, no, is that the time already?” Sansa realised she must have lost a track of time. “I have to go.” She whispered to Tyrion.

“Please, go.” He moved away from her and curled up, not looking at his wife, and trying to avoid sight of Brienne as well. He heard and felt Sansa leaving the tub.

“Ser Brienne, can you please help me?” Sansa needed to get rid of the wet shift somehow. Brienne calmly took a towel Tyrion prepared for himself earlier, and spread it like a screen. She kept her gaze at the window, not looking either at Sansa nor at Tyrion hiding in the tub. Sansa took her wet shift off and put on her dressing gown, discarded earlier. Then she used the towel to dry her hands, legs, and neck; whatever was available with the dressing gown on.

Tyrion felt most uncomfortable, but he decided to stay in now cold water until both women left. He sat there quietly. Sansa was nervous again and that added to his discomfort.

“I’m sorry you found us this way” Sansa said to Brienne, but the elder woman just smirked. “I’ts all right, My Queen,” she said, and then unexpectedly threw an amused look towards Tyrion. “There is something irresistible in a Lannister in a bath. I have rather nice memories on that account.”

“ _What_!?” Tyrion and Sansa exclaimed together. Sansa blushed and got visibly irritated. “Are you saying you had some experience of that sort with my Lord Hand here?!”

Tyrion was most indignant, but on the other hand he felt flattered by obvious jealousy in Sansa’s voice. Before he could deny the implied accusation, Brienne shook her head with a little laugh. “Oh, no, Your Grace, I would never. I referred to Lord Hand’s brother, Ser Jaime.”

At that Tyrion could not help himself and exclaimed: “I don’t believe two people of your size would actually fit in one tub!”

Brienne grinned mischievously.

“You’re right, my lord, we wouldn’t. It was not a tub, it was a pool. In Harrenhall.”

Hearing that both Tyrion and Sansa looked surprised at each other. They would not expect virtuous Lady Brienne to bath naked with the Kingslayer a lot earlier than their relationship actually blossomed. Tyrion realised his brother’s intimate life as well as his relationship with the Lady Knight had been much more complicated than anyone assumed. And why was Brienne still a virgin when they reunited in Winterfell so much later?

Sansa, on the other hand, felt comforted by the revelation. If noble Brienne bathed with Jamie Lannister such a long time ago, it meant that the action itself was not entirely indecent. Of course what Sansa just did to Tyrion in that tub was another thing, but after all, at least they were husband and wife. Sansa let herself relax and even smiled at Tyrion before she left the room.

Brienne followed her queen in silence, and Tyrion could finally get out of that damn freezing water and wrap himself in a now wet towel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, too soon..? 
> 
> Some more talking/fluff coming up next. But I need some time to complete those chapters. 
> 
> :*


	16. Courting the Lady

Tyrion quickly got himself together and just a little later he joined Sansa in the Great Hall - as the lord of Winterfell, he personally bid farewell to every lord and lady. But he was happy to avoid seeing them off in the courtyard; standing in front of tall men and women was humiliating enough, let alone when the said men and women sat on horses. So while the Northerners gradually departed, Tyrion went down to the kitchens and the servants’ hall.

He didn’t mean to do so, but he interrupted the servants’ lunch. The moment he entered, everyone got up.

“Sit, sit, please. I am sorry I have interrupted your meal.” They all bowed but did not sit down. So Tyrion insisted, “Could all of you just sit down and stop towering me?”

He meant it as a jape, but apparently the servants got nervous - they sat down very quickly murmuring “Sorry, m’lord!” Tyrion just shrugged and smiled to them. Finally, it was a housekeeper who spoke: “M’lord, we hope you are pleased by our service. We heard about the Queen’s announcement yesterday, and we would like you to know that we are all very happy to have you as our Prince and the Lord of Winterfell.”

“Are you, really?” Tyrion raised his eyebrow, "Well, it’s good to hear. I am pleased with your service indeed, and I hope we will all get on well in the future. I will not disturb your meal further; I actually came to talk to Mrs Patmore, but that can wait.”

“No, m’lord, it is actually a good time.” Mrs Patmore emerged from the kitchens; “the cook never eats with the rest of the staff, and as I served the lunch already, we could have a talk now, if it pleases you.”

Tyrion followed Mrs Patmore to the kitchens. A few maids were busy there, but they found a quiet corner to sit and talk.

“M’lord, let me stress how very glad I am that you will be our Lord and husband of our Queen.” Mrs Patmore said, warmly.

“Really?” Tyrion looked at her, carefully. “I’m flattered, but why is that?”

“My lord, I suppose you know very well that our young Queen had been through a lot.” The elder woman sighed, “And I could see her distress in plates full of untouched food that often came back to me on her trays. I think you are a decent man, but most of all I see the difference in our Queen’s eating habits since you came to Winterfell. She no longer sends the food back, and I am most grateful for that. Winter is here and she needs to eat, poor girl.”

Tyrion nodded and smiled; Mrs Patmore’s protectiveness towards Sansa was endearing.

“Thank you, Mrs Patmore,” he replied, “I am glad you think so, and I can promise you I intend to dedicate my life to the Queen’s well-being. Speaking of which, did ser Podrick bring my package down here?”

“Yes my lord, I opened the pantry for him and he left it there. May I ask what that is?”

(Just a moment earlier Podrick brought Tyrion a package that has been delivered for him. Tyrion told Pod to leave it in a pantry, if Mrs Patmore agreed.)

“A crate of lemons, Mrs. Patmore. I want Queen Sansa to enjoy her favourite lemon cakes, and so I ordered lemons from the South some time ago. May I count on your help in preparing those cakes?”

“I never made lemon cakes before, m’lord…” Mrs Patmore was obviously nervous, but Tyrion reassured her: “Don’t worry, it can’t be that different from any other fruit cakes you know. And in fact, I would like to come down here and join you. I have never baked anything myself, ever, but I’d like to try.”

“Very well m’lord,” Mrs Patmore was rather surprised, but she was not going to object.

—

Tyrion thought about everything that happened during the past two days, and on one hand he couldn’t believe his luck, but on the other hand he had a feeling that it all just went too fast. He didn’t want Sansa to get anxious, and he somehow sensed they both lost control a bit. He wanted to get back to the steady ground of their usual evenings together: talking, dining, not rushing into anything - well, perhaps with some additional kissing and cuddling… unless Sansa wanted more - he knew very well he would not be able to deny her anything. On the other hand, he felt that Sansa simply deserved to be properly _courted_ , and that was exactly what he planned to do now. So, he suggested that after the departure of all their guest they could enjoy a romantic supper together; he was going to surprise her with the lemon cakes, and also with a gift that he purchased some time ago, intending to give it to her on her next nameday, but now he decided there was no reason to wait. It was a set of necklace and earrings, made of silver; the earrings had the shape of weirwood tree leafs, and the necklace had a pendant in a shape of the tree full of red leaves that would match splendidly Sansa’s hair.

—

In the early evening Brienne knocked the door to Tyrion’s chamber.

“Please, come in!” she heard, so she entered. The Lord Hand was standing in front of a mirror, trying on a dark grey woollen doublet. The other one - of black leather - was thrown on a standing-by chair.

“Ah, Ser Brienne, good to see you.” Tyrion smiled at her, “I actually could use some feminine advice.”

Brienne raised one eyebrow, “I am not sure how feminine I am, my lord.”

“Very, I suspect, as otherwise my brother would not be interested.” Tyrion winked, and Brienne blushed. “Well, I just can’t decide what to wear for an elegant supper with my lady wife tonight.” Tyrion pointed out to the doublets, “Which one would you choose?”

“I suppose the leather black one is more elegant, but I have an inkling that Her Grace would like the grey one better. It’s Stark colour and the wool is… well, nicer to touch.”

Tyrion chuckled, “ah, do you think I may count on some touching tonight? I thought I used all I could get this morning during bath.”

At that Brienne blushed again. “Yes, my lord,” she muttered, “I actually came to apologise again for interrupting you…”

“No need, my lady.” Tyrion reassured her, “I must say Her Grace and I got somehow carried away, neither of us planned to end up in that tub together.”

Brienne smiled at him, gently, “Oh, but I am glad, really. Her Grace was cheerful and relaxed all day. I think you make her happy.”

“Do you, really?” Tyrion asked with a small voice and Brienne realised how insecure he really was. And how much he cared about Sansa. The lady knight kneeled to look little lord in the eyes.

“Yes, I do.” She reassured him, and then narrowed her eyes, looking closely at his face. “My lord… do you have some kind of pastry in your beard?”

Tyrion laughed, turning towards mirror, “Ah yes, thank you for letting me know. I thought I cleaned all that up.” And then he explained, turning back to her: “Mrs Patmore and I made lemon cakes together. But you mustn’t tell the Queen, it is going to be a surprise for her.”

Brienne raised her eyebrows, “you made cakes for Sansa? Yourself?”

“Well, not myself, exactly. Mostly Mrs Patmore made them, otherwise I doubt they would be eatable.” Tyrion chuckled, “But yes. Lemon cakes used to be Sansa’s favourites, I hope she still likes them. There are no lemons in the North though, I had to have them delivered from Casterly Rock.” Then he added, with a wink, “I hope once Jaime settles there, he will keep lowered prices for lemons’ delivery for he North. It is enough that we have Sir Bronn at the Twins and his taxes on all the goods on the way through the Neck.”

Brienne snorted. “Does everything imported to the North has to go through Ser Bronn’s?”

“Theoretically, no.” Tyrion mused, “If I ordered delivery from King’s Landing, it would be shipped directly to White Harbor. Or the ship from Lannisport could have sailed all the way up North to the Deepwood Motte. But that would require the export of more goods than just one crate of lemons. Well,” Tyrion sighed, “surely our trade routs is still a subject in need of further discussion. But today I just want to woo my lady.” He smiled to himself, “she can’t be the Queen all the time, she deserves to be a young lady courted and spoiled once in a while.”

“That she does.” Brienne nodded, looking at Tyrion warmly and thoughtfully. “My lord, I did not think I would say that, but she’s lucky to have you.”

“Thank you, Brienne.” Tyrion was touched.

“And, Tyrion,” now Brienne looked at him with serious gaze, “if I may ask you… I very much hope you could one day teach Jaime that. As his uncle, I mean.”

“Teach him what?!”

“How to court a lady. How to woo one. How to be chivalric and gentle, offering treats and compliments.”

Tyrion snorted, “No-one ever accused me of being chivalric and gentle. And how on Earth can I teach someone how to court a lady? I never courted one before, that may turn out to be one big disaster.”

“Well, we’ll see about that.” Brienne chuckled, “But somehow I have a feeling you could give Jaime some useful advice. You made an effort to get lemons in the North just to make favourite cakes for your lady! And what would I tell Jaime if he asked me what his father said when we first met? Because he asked Lady Sark: ‘Where did you find this beast?’ And then, when I took him out of his cage, the first thing he said when I took the sack off his head, was ‘you're much uglier in a daylight.’ And then he asked if everyone ever told me I was as boring as I was ugly.”

“Oh Gods, did he really?” Tyrion knew his brother, and it sounded much like Jaime, especially considering the fact that most likely in captivity Jaime got even more cheeky than usual, just to infuriate his captors. “But then, as I heard, he jumped into a bear pit for you.”

“Yes,” Brienne nodded, “And he lost his hand after he defended my virtue; I know that those soldiers were after him because he was a Lannister, but I had a feeling that resigning of raping me that night frustrated them up to the point of doing something they may not have done to him if he didn’t stop them from having fun on my expense. He was a good man: Jaime.” Brienne sighed, “but…”

“But… a bit extreme, sometimes.” Tyrion supplied, “I know.”

Brienne smiled, happy to have an understanding with Tyrion. “You see, he insulted me and he was ready to die for me. And it worked - for me. But as a mother I really prefer my son to behave more _rationally_ when it comes to relationships.”

Tyrion laughed. “I’ll do my best to be an epitome of a rational uncle for him, then. We’ll try to teach him together not to insult the ladies, as well as to avoid getting his limbs cut off. Although I hope you do not assume that I would not jump into a bear pit for Sansa.”

“You wouldn’t have to jump into it, my lord. You would just _talk_ the bear out of hurting her.” Brienne smirked and Tyrion snorted.

—

Tyrion arranged their supper to be served in a chamber next to Sansa’s bedroom: the table was covered with finest cloth, chairs were adorned with soft cushions, and candles were lit all over the room. When Sansa entered, Tyrion was already there. They smiled to each other. Sansa was wearing a very nice dark blue gown; Tyrion was happy to realise that she changed especially for their date.

“You look very beautiful, my lady.”

Sansa immediately responded, “Oh, yes, the wife of your dreams.” She winked, “But you, you do look glorious.”

Tyrion snorted, “You can’t turn _that_ conversation around this way. I was entitled to be sarcastic, but you can not. Because you _are_ amazingly beautiful, you look gorgeous in this dress, and yes, thank you very much, you _are_ most definitively the wife of my dreams. So no room for any jape here.”

She blushed prettily and bit her bottom lip.

Then she approached him and reached for his hands; he immediately grabbed her palms and kissed her knuckles. When he looked up at her, she smiled warmly.

“Thank you, Tyrion. For making me smile. You made me smile even then, just before our nightmare of a wedding. Please know that I very much appreciate it.”

Tyrion’s throat tighten with emotions. “Then you should know that this will be the main goal of the rest of my life. To make you smile as often as possible.” He looked at her with admiration and awe.

And just when Sansa thought about bending to kiss him, servants knocked the door, so they just sat down by the table and bid them in. To Sansa’s surprise, not only the first dishes were served. Hot plates with roasted lamb were brought in, but also other food: various cold appetisers and snacks. Additionally, there was a big serving plate covered with a dome that they put on a side table.

Sansa looked at Tyrion questionably, so he explained: “there is a surprise for dessert. And I did not want us to be disturbed, so they served everything at once and will not bother us again.”

And so the servants left, and Sansa and Tyrion started enjoying their meal together. They ate the hot dish first, and left the cold appetisers to be eaten instead of a second course. Sipping wine, they soon found themselves gossiping on Northern lords and ladies that just left Winterfell that day. They talked and laughed, but at some point Tyrion sighed, “I so wanted to take your mind off all the queenly business tonight, but yet here we are, discussing your bannermen.”

“Gossiping is not discussing.” Sansa winked, “And I feel very much relaxed and amused. So thank you, Tyrion, your goal has been achieved.”

“My goal is to _court_ you, my lady. To woo you properly.” Tyrion grinned and Sansa raised her eyebrows.

“I thought courting and wooing is never a goal, but rather a way to achieve… what exactly? What were you planning to achieve, my lord?”

Tyrion smirked, “That is a very good question, my lady. First of all, I must be honest: I have never done any proper courting of a lady, ever, in my life.”

Sansa smiled to him, warmly: “you are doing very well, my lord.”

“I have not even started, really. But here we go. Are you ready for dessert?”

Sansa nodded, so Tyrion moved towards side table and picked up serving plate, removing the dome. And so Sansa saw them: round and yellow cakes, smelling of lemons, looking delicious.

Her eyes widened, “Are these….?”

“Lemon cakes, yes.” Tyrion placed the plate on their dining table, “I hope you still like them.”

Sansa felt tears welling up in er eyes. “Where did you get the lemons?” She whispered.

“I had them delivered from Casterly Rock. Funny, I thought once…” he bit his lower lip and stopped.

“You once thought what, Tyrion?” Sansa encouraged him gently.

After a moment of silence, Tyrion supplied with a small voice, “I thought I would take you as my wife to Casterly Rock and spoil you with lemon cakes every day.”

 _I wouldn’t appreciate that back then._ Sansa thought, _what a stupid girl I was._

“Tyrion,” she said warmly, “you are wonderful, and please know that I recognise it now.”

Tyrion smirked and waved his hand dismissively. “Just try out the cakes already, because we get all emotional here, and then what if they are not good at all?” He tried to hide how touched he was by her praise, he tried to act nonchalant.

Sansa picked up a cake, smiling, and took a bite. Her eyes widened. “Oh my Gods, this is delicious!” She muttered, mouth full. And after she swallowed her first bite, she added: “Tyrion, they are amazing. Taste is a bit different than I remembered, but I must say: it seems actually _better_.”

Tyrion chuckled, all smug. “That’s because I altered a recipe a bit. I flavoured them with rum.”

“Of course you did!” Sansa laughed, and then, when she realised what exactly he said, “wait, what? _You_ flavoured them? Are you saying you baked those cakes yourself?”

Tyrion grinned, “I wish I could say yes, but to be honest, Mrs Patmore did them with me. But yes, I have contributed, and so actively that when I came back to my chambers it turned out that I had pastry in my beard.”

At that Sansa just laughed, and Tyrion suddenly felt like the luckiest man in the world.

Sansa insisted that they ate the cakes together, so they did.

“So, my lord, well done. Your courting efforts have been much appreciated. Although we still did not establish whatexactly were you hoping to achieve.”

They were quite relaxed by now, sipping wine, and Tyrion felt at ease as his dessert-surprise turned out to be rather a success. So he dared to jape: “Well, my lady… As we’ve established, I have no experience in wooing ladies, but as an Imp I of course had some fantasies about how such a date could end, and not entirely proper ones. I would say, for example, that I’d be very glad to get a kiss. I could even admit that in my dirty mind I imagined I could persuade my lady to share a bath with me. But as I already got that before, I am a bit confused now.” He made a face and she couldn’t help barking a laughter.

In general, Sansa was rather nervous about what happened in the morning. She felt they should talk about it, but she did not want to start this conversation. She felt ashamed for behaving as she did, but most of all she was astonished to acknowledge that seeing Tyrion naked and touching him changed her mind about his body. She was not _afraid_ of it anymore… but she wasn’t ready to tell him that. All together, Sansa was grateful that Tyrion did not address this issue earlier; now after having some good food (especially those delicious cakes), some laughter and some wine, she was not as anxious about it at she would be before. So now she just bit her lower lip, playfully.

“It looks like you chose a wrong lady to woo, my lord. Yours is apparently shameless and wanton, as she pushed herself into your tub uninvited before you even had a chance to court her.” At that, Tyrion chuckled. “But to be clear,” Sansa continued, “I did not exactly join you in your tub voluntarily. I slipped and fell in by accident. Embarrassing, either way. As well as shameless.”

“My dearest Sansa,” Tyrion smiled at her, warmly, “First of all, it was just wonderful. I am immensely grateful for all you did there, but to be honest it was not shameless at all, and not wanton enough for my liking. After all, you stayed in your shift all the time.” And then he added with a wink: “I hope to improve that part next time.”

Sansa could not stop herself from giggling.

Tyrion raised his cup. “My dear wife, I propose a toast: for our married life together. For baths, for laughs and for happiness.”

Sansa raised her cup and they drank.

“I hope you will be happy with me, Tyrion. I hope we manage to built something good together.” She whispered.

Tyrion looked at her, thoughtfully.

“I have never been happier my entire life.” He reassured her.

“What do you think is a key factor for a long-lasting happy marriage?” Sansa asked, suddenly.

After consideration, Tyrion slowly replied, “True friendship, I think, and all that comes with that: understanding, mutual kindness, trust.”

“I think that too.” Sansa nodded, “and most of all, trust. Sometimes I think that my parents managed to built really good marriage. But then I have been thinking a lot about that lately: was there really trust between them? Why father never told my mother the truth about Jon’s parentage? She was heartbroken because she thought Jon was his bastard.”

“Well, I can’t speak for Ned Stark,” Tyrion replied, “but probably he was just so honourable that he refused to break a promise he gave his sister on her deathbed.”

“I would not be that honourable if I were him.” Sansa whispered.

“Good.” Tyrion was calm. “I’d much preferred if you broke your word than if you deceived me.”

“I can understand why he didn’t tell her at first.” Sansa mused, “they barely knew each other when they married. And considering the fact that there were 4 years between Robb’s birth and mine, I suspect my mother was seriously pissed off for a while and kept father out of her bed. Then, apparently, she forgave him, and so me, Bran and Arya entered the world in intervals of less than 2 years. Rickon came a little later, but all together I know that in years my parents managed to built a truly solid relationship. So why didn’t he tell her later, just her, to make her happier?”

“Perhaps he wasn’t sure she would keep the secret?” Tyrion suggested, “I don’t know, but I must say that I can’t imagine keeping such a secret from you. I am also too selfish, and therefore I would not sacrifice my family life like that: it is not enough for me to be true to you, I want you to _know_ that. I can’t imagine making you think that I fucked another woman just to keep some promise. But then I trust you and I think that you would play along splendidly.”

“Imagine that,” Sansa mused, “Let’s say Daenerys sits on the Iron Throne. Let’s say you did not free Jaime and so you did not fall out of Queen’s graces. But you resigned of being her Hand and came here to be my husband. It would be very much possible that Daenerys would want to see your brother’s son dead. You could save little Jaime by acknowledging him as your bastard.”

“Poor Brienne, what an insult for her!” Tyrion smirked, “But if I wanted to do that, would you still have me as your husband, letting everyone think that I cheated on you, keeping Jaime’s parentage secret?”

Sansa gave it a thought. “To my surprise, I think I would.” She replied, slowly, “In fact, I don’t think husband’s bastard is really a shame for his wife. My parents were widely admired, both of them. I don’t think that anyone here thought Jon’s existence made my mother any less respectable. So if you had to announce that Jaime was your bastard, in the end it would harm your reputation more than mine. And as long as you would be honest to _me_ , I would support you and keep your secret. I am surprised myself to say that, but you are truly the first person I really don’t want to play any games against.”

Tyrion smiled. “Thank you, Sansa. I don’t want to play any games against you either. I want us to be honest with each other, no matter what.”

“Do you, really? Then tell me, Tyrion,” her voice went small, “is this really all right for you to name our children Starks?”

Tyrion stood up from his chair, went around the table, stood in front of her and took her hands in his.

“Sansa, darling, make no mistake, it is not completely unbothering to me. I have my manly pride, and I won’t lie to you: I would be happy to sire strapping Lannister heirs. But it is a pragmatic move. I want my children to be respected, to have a future here in the North. Well, right now with Bran Stark on the Iron Throne Stark name would probably make a lot of things easier for them even in the South. Besides, my father gave me his name and nothing more - I intend to be the exact opposite of him. So I’ll start by _not_ giving my children my name… and then I'll do my best to love them and support them no matter what.”

Sansa squeezed his palms. “You will be an excellent father, Tyrion.”

And then she bent and placed a soft chaste kiss on his lips.

Tyrion sighed.

He let her hands go and reached to his pocket. “I have a gift for you, my lady.”

“Another one?”

“Cakes don’t count as a gift; cakes were a treat and they are gone now. Gift is supposed to last.” Tyrion laughed a little and gave her a small box.

Sansa felt giddy, and she could not remember the last time she felt that way. Probably never… a little bit, perhaps, when Loras gave her a rose on the tournament, and when Joffrey gave her a necklace, once- but even that did not make her feel _that_ excited. She opened the box and saw the set of exquisite silver jewellery, decorated with a weirwood tree motif. It was so beautiful…

And suddenly Sansa realised that there was something more about that gift: Tyrion gave her something very _Northern_ , paying respect to _her_. Loras gave her a rose, and Joffrey gave her a golden lion necklace: they both made a gesture of pinning their own sigils on her, in a way. Tyrion’s gift was so very different: it was a tribute to her beauty without _claiming_ her as property of his own house.

“Tyrion…” Sansa’s voice was shaking, “it is so beautiful, and so thoughtful. I love it, thank you very much.”

She looked him in the eyes and was intimidated by the amount of awe and admiration she saw there.

With no more words, they closed distance between themselves and their mouths met in a kiss that started out as gentle and soft, but then deepened and turned into a passionate dance of their lips and tongues. Her palms cupped his face, his hands encircled her waist.

After rather a long time, when they parted panting, Sansa breathed out: “My lord, I have a gift for you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: as February approaches I get tones of texts to write, as the Valentine’s Day is a perfect opportunity to write about sex in the Middle Ages. As a result, I have really no free time now. But I’ll try to update anyway. Thank you so much for reading and commenting!


	17. The Library Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why does it work like this: the more work I have to do, the more fanfiction I write?
> 
> A short chapter, this time, but important to me :) I hope you like it. Thank you for reading :*

“A gift, for me?” Tyrion was surprised. Truth be told, _he_ was supposed to be the one giving gifts here, courting his lady; but he couldn’t deny it was a very exciting prospect: to _get_ a gift for a change. Well, Sansa already gave him his green cloak with embroidered lion, and he treasured it. He wasn’t used to getting gifts; as a child he got some for his namedays, of course, but celebrating that day was always overshadowed by the anniversary of his Lady Mother’s death.

Sansa smiled brightly. “Yes, but I can’t give it to you here. We have to go to the library to see it. I was going to present it to you tomorrow, in a daylight, but now I don’t think I can wait. Shall we?”

Tyrion was intrigued. _In the library - so it’s a book? Perhaps a big one, too heavy to carry around, and hence to be kept in the library? And why it would be better in a daylight? Perhaps it was decorated in some specific way?_

Winterfell library was not very big - especially comparing to the one Tyrion grew up with in Castelry Rock - but it had a very nice collection of books, and by some miracle most of them survived the Long Night. However, the books were in a mess here, and Tyrion thought that now as he was the new Lord of Winterfell he was finally entitled to rearrange them properly on the shelves.

The library was a large room divided into corridors by massive wooden bookcases arranged in parallel. Lower three shelves of each bookcase contained books and ledgers, while the top ones, divided into smaller compartments, contained scrolls. The trouble was that every time Tyrion needed to use those scrolls, he had to ask someone - usually Podrick or maester Wolkan - to pass them to him, as they were beyond his reach. All together, bookcases in Winterfell library were not very high, and the top shelves were accessible for any tall person. That is why there were no portable staircases here. Tyrion of course would use any furniture to climb to those top shelves, but unfortunately in this room there were only chairs with soft leather seatings (not much suitable for standing on them) and a huge wooden table, too heavy to move.

When they reached the library, it was dark and cold - fire in the library hearth was always put out for the night for safety reasons, and also it was not a room for anyone to spend the night in. The only light they got were two candles they brought with them, and there was some moonlight sipping through the windows. At first, in the dark, Tyrion was not sure what to look at. But then Sansa approached one of the bookcases with her candle, and he saw _it_.

The gift. The piece of furniture. Made especially for him, apparently. He tried to swallow lump that suddenly formed in fis throat… with no success.

It was a wooden library staircase. The steps were unusually low and broad, very comfortable to climb for a person with short legs. Handrail was rather low, too; and on the top there was a small pulpit, perfect for storing books taken from the shelf - also placed conveniently low. Additionally, there was a basket attached to the handrail on the outer side.

“The basket can be rolled up and down along the handrail,” Sansa explained, “so you can put books or scrolls into it and you don’t have to carry them when you climb up and down. Also, the staircase has wheels, so you can easily push it around the whole library. And here - “ she pointed out to a pedal beneath the wooden construction, “is a brake you can push to block the wheels so the whole thing does not roll away while you are on top of it.”

At first Tyrion was too touched to say anything. He only approached the staircase and delicately touched the wood of handrail. Stroked it, actually. He spotted carved lions decorating it.

He placed his candle on the floor.

Sansa got a little tense. Why didn’t he say anything? Did he like it? Or perhaps he felt somehow offended by her gift? Perhaps he thought she was pointing out to his stature by having this furniture made for him?

“Tyrion…” her voice trembled, “if you don’t like it…”

“What are you talking about, Sansa?” He cut her off immediately, “I _love_ it. I am just…. too touched to say something… it is just… too much.” He swallowed dry, “it’s so thoughtful and so wonderful, and… oh Gods… I guess I’m trying to say: _thank you._ ”

Sansa relaxed and Tyrion decided to try out the staircase. He climbed a few steps. “It’s perfect,” he whispered and turned around, “come here, darling.” 

Sansa left her candle next to his and approached him, smiling. “I wish I could express my gratitude, somehow…” Tyrion murmured, taking her hands and pulling her closer.

“Well,” Sansa bit her lower lip, “you could always give me… another of those husband-kisses.”

Tyrion laughed a little, “oh, I’d like to give you those every day, and every night. And look at me now, I’m all tall!”

Indeed, standing on the staircase, Tyrion was actually slightly towering Sansa.

He cupped her face and she embraced his waist. They started kissing: slowly, sensuously, letting their tongues meet, moving their mouth against each other.

And then some sudden blow of wind put down both their candles.

Sansa immediately tensed in Tyrion’s arms, and he sensed it.

“What is it, dear?”

“I… I’m sorry… I know it’s you… I feel you… but when it’s dark, I can’t really see you… and I would feel safer if you weren’t that… err, that tall.” She whispered, embarrassed, “I just need to know it’s _you_.”

Tyrion chuckled , “Oh, but of course,” he quickly stepped down. Sansa sank to her knees and closed her arms around him. “In a way, I must say that I am strangely happy to hear that my high is suddenly my advantage: that you feel better when I’m not… tall.”

For some time they just stayed like that, in the darkness, holding each other. And at some point Tyrion just murmured to her ear, “It’s so perfect, my love. _You_ are perfect.”

Sansa’s eyes widened, but luckily he could not see it in the darkness. Did he just called her “my love”? Did he really fall in love with her? Or was it just a casual term of endearment he used without thinking it through?

She was tempted to ask: _“what did you just call me?”_ \- but she didn’t. Tyrion sensed her discomfort, though.

“What’s wrong?” He asked; so: “I’m sorry, my lord. I just think I’m… scared?”

 _Mee too,_ Tyrion thought.

But instead, “Why are you scared, Sansa?”

She replied after a moment, her voice small, “I'm sacred of my feelings I can't fathom just yet. Too much happened since yesterday. You may joke about today's bath, but it was a powerful experience for me. I thought, before…. I thought I would always be scared of any male body. And, well… today I discovered I am not scared of you, after all. In fact, I may, I mean - I could… actually be attracted to you, in a way… and _that_ freaks me out right now. I need some time to process that, Tyrion.”

He pressed a kiss on her cheek. “It's all right,” he said reassuringly and she suddenly felt relieved, and calmed down instantly. Tyrion, on the other hand, felt as if his chest were about to burst.

Because of love and because of hope.

They could stay like this - cuddling in the darkness - forever, really; but at some point, even though they held each other, they started to feel really cold.

So: “Would you like to warm up a bit with a cup of wine in my chambers, my lord?”

And that is how they ended up in her bedchamber. And even though Sansa knew the window in his chamber was fixed, she did not ask him if he wanted to stay for another night in her room (because what if he said no?). And even though Tyrion knew he should not stay when his room was good to use, he did not ask her if she wanted him to go (because what if she said yes?). So, neither of them _asked_ , but after two more cups of wine they just somehow ended up pretending to have forgotten about Tyrion’s fixed window.

Eventually, they got rid of their outer clothes and half-sat on the bed, finishing their wine. Tyrion turned towards Sansa and smiled warmly. “You know, my lady, I think you gave me the best gift I ever got. This, and the cloak, of course. You spoil me.”

Sansa giggled. “I’m glad you like it, but nothing can match lemon cakes and most beautiful necklace and earrings.”

Tyrion smiled and then decided to ask, “So, when did you have those stairs made?”

“Oh, just now.” Sansa smiled, “it was placed in the library when we were having dinner.”

“But when did you order it?”

Sansa blushed a little. “The day before I offered you the position of my Hand.” She confessed.

Tyrion was truly surprised. “So you were certain I would accept and stay.” He chuckled.

“Not at all,” she replied with a small voice, “on the contrary, I thought…. No, It’s stupid.”

“Oh, come on, tell me.” Tyrion tugged her arm playfully. It was amazing how easily he managed to put her at ease.

“Well… I comforted myself that when you say no, I would show you the staircase before you left to King’s Landing, so you would know that you are always _welcomed_ here, in Winterfell… I kind of hoped you would visit every now and then, anyway.”

“Oh, Sansa.” Tyrion was touched. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. Again, Sansa relaxed. “I actually wanted the carpenter to finish it before the whole meeting with the Northern Lords, but once you decided to stay, I told him to take his time - I’d rather had it done well than in a hurry. And so he completed it yesterday.”

“To be honest, I can’t wait to go to the library tomorrow morning to enjoy it in the daylight.” Tyrion admitted.

“And I can’t wait to wear my beautiful necklace and earrings tomorrow.” Sansa replied with a smile.

They sipped their wine in silence for a moment. Finally, Sansa murmured, “Thank you, my lord. Thank you for a wonderful evening.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Tyrion replied gallantly, “You made that evening truly remarkable. Hell, you made the whole day amazing, actually. Starting from the morning.”

Sansa smirked, but then she looked at Tyrion somehow sadly. The recollection of their bath suddenly pushed an uncomfortable thought to her mind.

“I… I am thinking about showing you something…” she eventually whispered, shyly, “I saw in the tub that your back is scarred, but mine… mine is much worse.”

Tyrion swallowed dry. “I hate to think that someone hurt you, but no scar of yours can ever make me think less of your beauty.” He murmured. Sansa nodded, grateful, and then slowly turned her back to him. She gathered her hair and pulled it around her shoulder. Then she slowly undid laces of her shift and let it slip down to her waist, exposing her back to Tyrion.

For a second Tyrion thought that this would be a very arousing situation: her stripping for him, even if she kept her front out of his sight. But when he saw her back, there was no room for any excitement in his brain anymore. Only anger and sorrow.

He assumed that she may have scars like his: whipping marks, and perhaps some cuts. They were there, but that was not all. What he did not expect was that there was actually a word cut in the skin of her back.

Five angular clumsy letters between her shoulder blades.

It read: WHORE.

“Oh, Gods…” he only managed to choke. And then, “why the fuck did he do that to you?”

Sansa looked back at Tyrion over her shoulder. “He cut that when I got my moonblood, I told you he punished me for that. He said that whores knew their ways to avoid bearing children, and so not getting pregnant for my husband made me a whore. He also said he wanted to make sure that I would not run away South one day. Southern dresses often have open back… and I would never be able to wear any of those anymore.”

Tyrion’s throat tighten, but he decided he had to get himself together not to add to her distress right now. “What an idiot. You never wore open back dresses anyway, even in the South.” And then he added, softly, “Sansa, for me you are the Maiden incarnate. And as far from a whore as possible. And when it comes to whores, I consider myself an expert.”

Sansa smiled feebly. She was grateful for his reassuring.

“May I… kiss it? As we established earlier?” Tyrion asked, and she nodded. So he came closer and pressed light kisses against her back - along all the marks and those terrible cuts. At first Sansa moaned a little, so he felt encouraged: for support he placed his hands on both sides of her waist. He grabbed her instinctively, as it was most convenient: with his thumbs pressing her back. She immediately froze and then squirmed, hissing: “let me go!”

“Gods, Sansa, I’m so sorry, did I hurt you?” Tyrion quickly withdrew his hands.

Sansa sighed, shook her head. She pulled up her shift, and when she was dressed again, she turned around to look him in the eyes.

“No, Tyrion, I am the one who’s sorry. It just… I hate to be grabbed like that, on my waist, from behind.”

“Of course, darling. I absolutely understand that.” He reassured her.

After a moment of silence, Sansa asked with a small voice, “would you perhaps… read to me, Tyrion?”

A smile lighten up Tyrion’s face. “I’d love to.”

And so, a moment later they rearranged in bed - Sansa lay on her side, facing Tyrion, and he sat comfortable against his pillows. Sansa grabbed his hand. The book she had on her nightstand was actually a volume of old Northern Tales and Legends; she liked reading it to set her mind at peace, remembering Old Nan’s voice, drifting back in her mind to safe times of her childhood. But now the stories suddenly acquired a new quality when she listened to them in Tyrion’s deep baritone. Well-known tales from the past amazingly merged with familiar voice of her husband, transforming memories of comforting past into a new sensation of comforting _presence_. Tyrion actually made her happy and content _here_ _and now_.

When Tyrion realised that Sansa fell asleep, he closed the book and leaned over her body to put out the candle burning on her nightstand. But when he blew it out, before he managed to move away back to his side of the bed, Sansa pulled him in her arms, without really waking up. So he just stayed there, in her embrace.

—

Tyrion woke up at dawn feeling incredibly comfortable - it took him a moment to comprehend why that was. Apparently, he fell asleep in his wife’s arms, and somehow they shifted during the night. Now she pressed her front to his back, her arm around him, resting at his chest. She breathed onto his nape and he was holding her palm. Not only Tyrion perfectly fit in her arms as the little spoon - that position also enabled him to conveniently conceal his morning erection.

He thought that he could stay like this forever.

He closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

—

The next two days passed uneventfully - Tyrion could not help himself and spent most of the time in the library, enjoying the staircase, snooping through the scrolls collected on upper shelves. Well, it was not exactly _snooping_ , and not just for fun - he told himself - because as a lord of Winterfell he really should get to know all the archives of the castle. _So it was his duty, one may have said._

And if he had some fun once or twice riding on those wheeled staircase through the corridors between bookcases - what was wrong with that?

He made sure no-one saw him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long time ago in one of the comments @attonitos_gloria wrote to me: “Listen, I'm asking kindly for you to PLEASE write the story about Sansa giving Tyrion furniture for his Library. Like, please.” 
> 
> Darling, this is for you, wherever you are now. <3


	18. Kissing everywhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.  
> It is February, still long way to go before we get to Spring. It's cold and there's lockdown (and pandemics-related stuff is getting worse where I stay right now).  
> I say: we should cheer ourselves up!

Spending two subsequent days in the library, Tyrion enjoyed his evenings with Sansa. They wrote a bunch of letters together, informing king Bran as well as the Great Houses of Westeros about their decision to resume their marriage. Afterwards, they relaxed: reading, talking, playing cyvasse. For some reason they developed an unsaid understanding to avoid the issue of his accommodation. He didn’t exactly move in with his things to her chambers, but nonetheless he stayed for the night every time. So they just slept together without deciding whether or not that was to be permanent. It was a bit uncomfortable for Tyrion to sleep in one bedroom but to keep his belongings in the other… nevertheless, he sensed that Sansa for some reason was not ready to make a decision about sharing one bed officially. He didn’t want to push her, and he didn’t want to scare her off.

—

The third evening they enjoyed their wine on a fur rug by the hearth - they already got comfortable, Sansa wearing her shift, and Tyrion his undershirt and soft linen breeches.

They talked and laughed, and then kissed. (They kissed quite a lot these days.)

“Mhmmmm…” Sansa murmured “I never thought I would enjoy kissing _that_ much.”

“Well,” Tyrion smirked, “I enjoy it very much myself, but as I told you before, you are an excellent kisser” (Sansa blushed a little at his praise) “However,” he mused, “I must say, I would very much enjoy kissing you… elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere…?” Sansa’s voice went small, “Where exactly?”

“ _Everywhere_.” Tyrion replied with a deep voice. Then he leaned in and kissed her jaw. “I’d love to go…. down.”

Sansa instinctively arched her neck… and moaned. But then she whispered, “I see… but then…. I like when you kiss me on my lips….”

“Mmmm, yesss,” Tyrion moved towards her neck, “I would love to move _down_ to your lips…”

“Down…? To my lips?” Sansa was confused, but she really could not form a coherent thought right now. His mouth on her neck felt _amazing_. “You mean… up?”

“Oh yes,” Tyrion mused between kisses, “I’d be up in no time…”

Sansa felt dumbfounded. She didn’t understand what he talked about at all - but it felt sooo good. He moved from her neck towards her collarbone.

“Oh, Tyrion…”

He stopped kissing her and looked her in the eyes. “I mean it, Sansa. I’d just kiss you _everywhere_ , and trust me: you’d like it.”

And then added, softly, “I could be good to you, sweetheart.”

Sansa looked at him, thoughtfully. Only four days ago she let Tyrion touch her, and for the first time in her life she experienced pleasure beyond anything she ever dreamed about. Then she caressed him in a tub and was surprised to discover another level of pleasure - the one that came from touching him. She was more than ready to experience that again…although it was all very new for her and very unexpected. But she realised that the intimacy between man and wife could have been much more than the mere act of copulation. She was intrigued. What did he mean by kissing her _everywhere_?

“Tell me about that kissing.” She whispered.

Tyrion smiled softly. He knew by now that Sansa liked to have a feeling of control, and that she needed to have everything talked through first. She felt safer when she knew what to expect.

“I would kiss you, slowly.” He explained. He took her arm and demonstrated on her inner wrist. Sansa gasped when he kissed her pulse.

“And then, perhaps, I would also suck a little.” He demonstrated on the same spot. She moaned, astonished by the sensation.

“And lick, yes. I would lick you, what do you say for that?” Having said that, he ran his tongue from her wrist up her arm.

“Ooooohhh,” Sansa felt as if she were loosing her mind. “But…. but… ah, Tyrion, wait, please…”

Tyrion pressed one more kiss to her pulse and looked up at her. His eyes were misty.

“Yes, darling?”

“Tell me all about it, first.” Sansa pleaded with a small voice, “How would you… proceed? Would I have to… undress?”

Tyrion looked at her tenderly.

“I would suggest you lie on a bed, to be comfortable,” he explained softly, “and then I would kiss you, and suck you, and lick you wherever you would let me. And well, yes, I’d have to get to your bare skin, but only where you would want me to.”

“And… where would that, um, lead us?” Sansa had to have everything clear.

“I hope it would lead us to me pleasuring you, sweetheart. I want you to come for me, you are so beautiful when you reach your climax.” Tyrion said, and Sansa blushed furiously. But it was somehow arousing: the way he talked about those things, shamelessly.

“If I ever agree to that,” she remarked, “I would have two conditions. No, three.”

“Yes?” Now Tyrion was intrigued.

“First of all, you would agree to stop if I felt uncomfortable.”

“Well, of course, that is sort of obvious.”

“Second…” Sansa hesitated, “well, I wanted to ask you if you could… um… if I could be not the only one that gets undressed.” Her voice went small, “It is humiliating to be the only one naked.”

Tyrion felt sad when her words sunk in; he realised that most likely this was another way the Bolton bastard humiliated her: by making her strip naked while he remained fully clothed. “Oh, Sansa, sure, whatever is comfortable for you.” Tyrion did not exactly fancy the idea of exposing his misshaped body, but her comfort came absolutely first for him.

“And the third, well…” Sansa suddenly smirked, “I would only agree for you to pleasure me, if you agreed that afterwards I would, well… repeat what I did in that bath for you.”

“Sansa, there’s no need.” Tyrion shook his head, “it is supposed to be about you.”

“Then I won’t agree.” Sansa got all smug, “Your choice.”

“All right,” Tyrion chuckled, “I’d take all your conditions.”

“Well then.” Sansa smiled contently, and - to Tyrion’s surprise - stood up. He was rather sure they were talking hypothetically, about something they may do in future. But if she were ready now, he was most certainly not going to complain.

Sansa finished her wine and moved towards the bed. Tyrion could see she was a little nervous, but he was going to make her relax. She lay down and he climbed on the bed next to her. He cupped her face, caressed her cheeks looking her tenderly in the eyes. Sansa gave him a little smile, so he leaned in and kissed her mouth.

His fingers wandered into her hair, his lips traveled around her face. He kissed her cheeks, her nose, her forehead. She closed her eyes and he kissed her eyelids. Then he moved towards her chin, her jaw, her neck. Sucked her earlobe a little, making her moan.

His hands traveled down to stroke her shoulders while he explored her throat and then her collarbones with his lips. Sansa moaned again and arched her back. So he dared to caress sides of her breasts with back of his fingers.

“Oh, Gods,” Sansa whispered. She never thought that was possible, but suddenly she really, really wanted him to touch her breasts, fully. She arched her back even more and whispered “please…”, so Tyrion coupled her breasts with his palms, still through her shift. He caressed them gently, with circular movements… his mouth went back up to her neck, travelled behind her ear.

“Oohhhh…” Sansa was loosing any coherent thought. And _that heat_ was once again pooling in her belly. She squirmed a little under his ministrations.

Suddenly Tyrion stopped sucking on her neck and let her breasts go - involuntary murmur of disappointment left Sansa’s throat. He brushed laces of her shift. “May I pull it a little bit down?”

She nodded, but he didn’t proceed immediately. First he took off his own shirt with one swift movement. She smiled when she saw him bare chested - because he exposed himself for her comfort, and also because… she actually _enjoyed_ the view.

—

When Tyrion slowly pushed down Sansa’s shift and revealed her breasts, he almost lost his mind at the sight. He already felt a bit disconnected from his brain when he touched them through her clothes. They were so perfect: full, lush, firm - truly the most exquisite pair of tits in the entire world. Tyrion saw hundreds of beautiful naked women in his past, and he was always especially attracted to their tits. Nevertheless, _these_ were like the breasts of a Goddess incarnated. None of all of his dirty fantasies did them justice.

Tyrion swallowed dry; he was so struck by this sight, he felt like he could cry. Also, he was very hard right now. His cock was throbbing, almost getting out of his breeches. But Tyrion was determined to focus on pleasuring Sansa. If he disgraced himself on the way by spilling his seed, untouched - so be it.

—

Sansa was nervous at first about exposing her naked chest, but the awe and admiration in Tyrion’s gaze calmed her down. And when he cupped her breasts with his palms, when he started caressing them, when he gently ran his thumbs against her hardened nipples, she just let herself get lost in the sensation of pleasure. And when he started to kiss her breast, and liked it, and then sucked on her nipple, she just moaned audibly, unable to control herself.

He moved to the other breast then, and Sansa realised that her smallclothes were already _soaked_ with her arousal. Tingling between her legs became almost unbearable. She so wanted him to already touch her there…

“Tyrion, aaahhh, please…” she almost mewed, spreading her legs a little, circling her butt and pushing her shift further down towards her hips. Tyrion looked up at her, his gaze dark, misty and full of lust.

“Do you want me to free you from this?” He grabbed her shift rolled around her waist, and when she nodded he pulled it all the way down and off her legs. Then he somehow positioned himself between them, and from this new angle he resumed his kissing and licking: from under her breasts all the way down through her belly. His hands wandered on her sides, and then down, stroking her hips and upper thighs. She instinctively raised her arse a bit towards him, and his palms cupped her buttocks. _Oh, but that felt good_.

“Now, I think I should take this off.” He brushed her smallclothes, and she moaned “yesss….” She was wearing simple ones, laced on her hips with single straps, so all he had to do was to undo those laces, and they simply fell off. He was still between her spread legs, kissing and licking her abdomen. And then his mouth travelled lower.

Suddenly Sansa jumped, alarmed. She expected him to pleasure her with his fingers, like he did before. Meanwhile, he seemed to have another idea.

“Tyrion, what… what are you doing?” She whispered, flabbergasted, “you are not going to kiss me _there_ , are you?”

He raised up his head to look at her, all smug, “Of course I am. That’s the whole point.”

“But, you can’t! That’s indecent… that’s lewd!” She was truly terrified.

“No, it’s not.” Tyrion reassured her, warmly, and then he delicately brushed her wet folds with his fingertips, which made her jerk. “They are called ‘lower lips’ for a reason, you know.”

Sansa’s eyes widened when the realisation dawned on her: _“I would love to move down to your lips…”_

She looked at him and saw him bending, burying his nose in her nest of red curls. He inhaled her scent and then placed a soft tender kiss there.

“Gods!” The sensation was beyond anything she could imagine. And then he whispered towards her damp folds: “oh, Sansa, you smell so good… Just stop fussing, wife, and I’ll show you what it means to have a silver-tongued husband.” He said that in jokingly manner, but there was certain firmness hidden in his tone; it sounded altogether like an order rather than request, and she had no more strength to object; she actually felt she _wanted_ to obey him at this point. And so she moaned “all right…” and just let go, spreading her legs a little further.

At first Tyrion kissed her over there, passionately, but very soon he just started licking: he explored her folds with his tongue, feasting on her cunt. As he found her entrance incredibly dripping, he dared to push one finger inside, moving up with his mouth, towards the top of her sex. There he just concentrated on lapping on that magic nub of pleasure, while crooking his finger inside her, and the experience vastly exceeded Sansa’s expectations.

As she peaked, she actually screamed: it was so intense, so _consuming_.

(Some time before she climaxed, Tyrion - overwhelmed by her scent and taste - spilled his seed in his breeches after all, which happened to him for the first time since he was a teenager. At this point, he couldn’t care less, though. So he kept licking her clit, increasing the speed, and moved his finger a little inside her at the same pace. She came _so hard_ for him, he was actually surprised.)

—

“What….was….THAT?” Sansa panted. Tyrion smiled, all smug.

“I mean, seriously, you are a _wicked_ man. That was… that was… much better than the one before! I don't know, longer, more intense…” she lifted her head with some effort, looking at him. Narrowed her eyes. “Now you. Take off those breeches.”

There was something incredibly arousing in her commanding tone. And Tyrion would be very much happy to get rid of his pants and a sticky mess inside them. He was now sitting, still between her legs, stroking her thighs, but he raised his knees up to conceal his crotch and a wet stain on his breeches. But still, he protested, “Sansa, you don't have to…”

“Come on Tyrion, we've had a deal.”, she insisted, “I just need a minute. But meanwhile, please. Get rid of those clothes.”

Tyrion nodded, and she relaxed. He looked at her glorious naked body. He was actually already hard again, even though these days he needed a little more time to regain his prowess than he used to when he was in his twenties. But _this_ experience with Sansa was so powerful for him that he felt like a young man again. And so her intense peak under his tongue and around his finger aroused him immensely. He now sat at the edge of bed turning his back to her, unlaced his breeches and took them off, wiping himself a bit with them before discarding them on the floor by the bed. Then he turned around to face Sansa.

And so, for the first time she had a chance to see him entirely naked. She looked at his erected manhood and her eyes widened.

“Oh, it is so _big_ ,” she whispered. It felt huge in the tub when she grabbed it, but now it _looked_ even bigger.

“Well, thank you.” Tyrion smirked, but then realised that there was fear in Sansa’s eyes. “My lady, why do I have a feeling that you did not mean it as a compliment?”

Sansa looked him in the eyes, scared. “I am sorry, I just thought…” her voice was very small, “… I mean… one day you will just rip me apart with it.” She remembered too well how hurtful it was when Ramsay slammed into her, and his cock was _much_ smaller than Tyrion’s.

“Oh, no no no, darling,” Tyrion rushed to grab her hands, “It is not the concern for today, but I promise you, when we come to that, I won’t hurt you.” And then he added, softly, “That is what foreplay is for, sweetheart.”

Sansa looked at him questionably, so he supplied, “what we just did… see, there were no forks involved.” He winked at her.

“That was what it was…?” Sansa looked at him, astonished.

“Yes,” he smiled, “it was supposed to make you wet and relaxed.”

Sansa was thoughtful, “Well, I am most certainly wet,” she admitted, “but I wouldn’t say I am entirely relaxed.”

“No?”

“No… I am sated, it’s true, but at the same time I feel somehow… anxious? As if I wanted, I needed… something more? What is wrong with me?”

Tyrion looked her in the eyes, his gaze warm, “Nothing is wrong with you. On the contrary. Foreplay is supposed to... warm you up.”

He bent to kiss her pussy again, and then started stroking it with his fingers. “Better?” He asked, and she just moaned in reply.

As she was incredibly wet now, he slid his finger again inside her. Started to pump slowly.

Sansa was amazed - she felt somehow over-sensitive down there, but at the same time that strange sensation started to well up in her belly again! Would it be possible for her to peak one more time?

She felt greedy.

“Oh, Tyrion,” she whimpered, “moo-ore.”

“As my queen commands,” he added another finger. And then, as she demanded more again, the third. For a moment Sansa was sure she would come… But then he suddenly stopped and withdrew his hand.

“Fuck!” Sansa hissed in frustration, which made him chuckle. She looked at him, irritated. She was so close now. “Why did you stop?”

“Don’t worry, darling, I’ll resume in a minute, you’ll get what you want, I promise.” He reassured her, “I just wanted to draw your attention to the fact that you seem to want more and more of my fingers inside you. And my fingers, as it happens, are not particularly slim.” He raised his palm, three fingers sticking up. “Grab this, sweetheart. See? This was in your cunt just now.”

Sansa enveloped his three fingers with her palm and realised his point: for some reason at her current state of wetness and relaxation she enjoyed his fingers inside her, even though all together their girth probably exceeded the girth of Ramsay’s cock.

“Well, the more would be … only that,” he pointed out to his hardened manhood. Sansa looked at his shaft carefully, then looked at his three fingers she was holding, then at his shaft again. Then she looked Tyrion in the eyes in disbelief. “Then come on,” she whispered, “Let’s get on with it.”

“What? No, Sansa, I didn’t mean that…” Tyrion tried to withdraw, but she held his fingers in a firm grip. And then she reached with her other hand to his erect cock, grabbing it.

Tyrion hissed at her touch and his eyes rolled up. “Sansa…” he groaned, “oh fuck, Sansa…”

“Tyrion,” she whispered, “I won’t be more ready than I am now. ”

She stroked his shaft a bit and he knew he lost this battle already. He was doomed from the start.

“I want you, Tyrion, please,” she whispered and that was the final blow. He could not deny her, not when she actually told him she _wanted_ him. Besides, the truth was that he really wished to fuck her already.

He pursed his lips and nodded. Only then she let him go, so he could reposition himself between her open legs.

Not braking their gaze, Tyrion swallowed dry. He bent to reverently kiss her damp curls. Then slid his finger into her wet pussy one more time.

Moving slowly, and massaging her clit, he got her moaning again.

One finger.

Two fingers.

Three.

She was lying there, her back arched, her legs spread, her eyes closed.

She was so beautiful. So fucking wet. And his cock was truly throbbing by now.

_Seven hells._

Having her close to her peak again, he withdrew his fingers and slowly but firmly buried his entire cock inside her. Then he stood still, supporting himself on his short arms, looking at her, waiting. Giving her time to adjust to his girth.

She opened her eyes and looked at him in awe.

“How come?” She whispered weakly.

“What, my love?” Tyrion’s voice was warm as his gaze.

“It doesn't _hurt_!”

“I know, sweetheart. I told you it wouldn’t.” And, after a moment, he started to move. In a slow, steady rhythm.

Sansa’s brain just shut down. She did not analyse, she did not think. She let herself get lost in that amazing feeling.

Out of instinct she moved her hips, meeting his thrusts.

She did not imagine anything could feel _so_ good and right and natural. And it got even better when Tyrion increased speed of his thrusts.

(He had to close his eyes, because looking at her while fucking her would push him over the edge too soon. In fact, he only managed to last because he spilled his seed earlier).

And finally, she climaxed again, screaming his name; and he followed immediately, with expression that almost looked like pain. At the very end he groaned “Sansa, Sansa,…. _Fuck_ , Sansa… I _love_ you…” And then, after spilling his seed deep inside her, he just collapsed on top of her. Sansa immediately closed her arms around him.

She wasn’t really ready to form any coherent thought, when the words slipped out of her mouth: “And I you…”

But instantly she regretted that, bit her tongue. It felt too soon, too much, too unexpected even for herself. Luckily he did not seem to have understood her, too distracted to comprehend what any of them just said. After a short moment of panting he lifted his head and looked at her with misty eyes, murmuring “I’m sorry, you said something?”

“Nothing,” she reassured him, placing soft kiss on his lips. They rolled over, he slid out of her. She pulled the furs up, covering their naked bodies. Overwhelmed by what happened, emotionally and physically exhausted, they just held each other tightly and let the sleep claim them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🤭


	19. Man and wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fluff is here. 😊

Sansa woke up a couple hours later, in the middle of the night. There was still fire in the hearth, but burning low, and otherwise the room was dark. She could hardly see her husband, but she felt his warmth and his scent. It was _so_ good, it felt _so_ right to be in bed together like this. Naked, close to each other.

He was asleep by her side, touching her with his stretched-out arm. He was lying on his belly, his face turned towards her. Sansa moved closer, pressing herself to his side, enjoying heat of his body.

Once her eyes got accustomed to the darkness she started to recognise his features. His face was relaxed, tranquil. His back moved slowly in a steady rhythm of deep breathing. Delicately, not to wake him up, Sansa moved her palm along his bare body: rubbed his back, then moved lower and caressed his buttocks. To her surprise that actually aroused her; looking for friction she moved up her leg, throwing her thigh on his legs, pushing her womanhood against his thigh. Her palm went up from his arse through his back and nape, her fingers ending up in his curls. She scratched his scalp delicately, half-lying on top of him now.

Tyrion murmured in his sleep and stirred, so she froze. Although she wanted him again, she decided not to wake him up. She felt she needed some time to think past evening through.

Everything that happened just overwhelmed her. Newly discovered carnal pleasure blew her mind, but it was more than just that.

During past weeks something really amazing blossomed between her and Tyrion: friendship based on mutual understanding and trust, strengthened by intellectual compatibility. She new they could be a strong team - that’s why she decided she wanted him as her Hand. Then she contemplated how kind man he was, how brave, how gentle, how strong - and she decided she wanted him as her husband as well. But now… now it was way more than that. She realised she _loved_ him.

And it wasn’t just that he was so good, so caring, so clever. She suddenly realised that he actually attracted her physically. He was handsome in some special, not obvious way. He was incredibly sensual and manly - however strange that may have sounded. Particular details like his lips, his eyes, his fingers, or his scent simply drove her crazy. And his cock…. Sansa felt the wave of heat going through her just at that thought.

But there was something more. She _knew_ him, and she knew his flaws. He was temperamental, sometimes vindictive, sometimes mean when someone pushed his buttons. He was stubborn, and his self-consciousness sometimes led him into childish turmoils. He knew how to be irritatingly sarcastic, and no doubt they would passionately argue once in a while (they already did a little, a couple of times, over some tax agreements). He had an inkling to drink more than was good for him. But none of that mattered - because she _knew_ all that and she loved him anyway.

And moreover: he loved her too. He knew her, and he loved her. He knew how she was able to lie, he knew how she betrayed Jon’s trust, he knew that she never fought for Rickon, he knew how she dealt with Ramsay. And he loved her anyway.

Last but not least, Sansa realised that Tyrion was able to give her specific sense of balance: technically she was the Queen and he was her Hand, but in certain aspects of their intimate activities he took over the control in a very lordly manner: ever kindly, but leading them both, making her feel that _he_ was the one who knew what was good for her. She was happy to obey her lord husband in those moments, to let him be in charge: he made her feel safe and taken care of.

Sansa pressed a soft kiss against her sleeping husband’s forehead. What scared her couple hours earlier, did not scare her anymore.

“I love you, Tyrion,” she murmured. Then she cuddled against him even closer, and went back to sleep feeling happy and secure.

—

Tyrion woke up in the morning and he realised he was literally under Sansa: she mostly lay on top of him, and also: her hair was _everywhere_. But so was her scent, and the warmth of her body.

And oh, good Gods, she was naked.

And so was he.

The latter thought made him feel a bit nervous. All together he was very content about the past evening: especially proud of himself for pleasuring her with his tongue. Of course making love to her fully was an epitome he did not see coming that night, and it was glorious.

In fact, Tyrion realised that he never had such a powerful sexual experience - ever. Maybe that was because now for the first time he had a chance to make love to a lady, not to a whore. And perhaps it was because this time he actually _loved_ the woman he made love to. And it was important for him that she seemed to have enjoyed that too.

Nevertheless, now old anxieties crept into his brain. What if she regrets it when she wakes up? What if she resents him? What if in a daylight she is repulsed by his misshapen body, abhorred by the experience of finding an old naked dwarf in her bed?

Before he had a chance to withdraw from her embrace, Sansa started to stir and opened her eyes. She looked at him and smiled, but then she saw distress in his gaze.

“What’s wrong?” She frowned. Tyrion swallowed dry and she felt fear clutching her stomach. “Was I a disappointment to you…? I know I haven’t really… well… but I can learn…”

“What?!” Tyrion suddenly realised that his anxieties not only showed, but where vastly misinterpreted, “No, no, Sansa! You were amazing, absolutely wonderful. I just thought that you may, um…be repulsed by waking up with an old naked dwarf in your arms.”

Sansa’s heart melted when she realised how insecure he was. “Well, you are not _that_ old. So it is only waking up with a naked dwarf in my arms.” She winked and Tyrion smirked. “ Still does not sound good, my lady.”

“Oh but I disagree…” Somehow neither of them could stop smiling now, “I already enjoyed waking up by your side when you were fully clothed, and it actually feels _better_ when you're not.” She placed a soft kiss on his cheek. And then added, with a small voice, “But really, I am aware that I know nothing about carnal pleasures, and I certainly can't compete with all the skilled women you have bedded. I just hope I can get better in time, learn how to please you…”

“What!?” He cut her off immediately, “Sansa, stop that! How can you think that any woman may be better than you? Gods, I swear to you, I have _never_ experienced such a pleasure before, ever!”

“Really…?” She blushed a little, very prettily.

“Yes!” Tyrion smiled again, “You were amazing! Passionate, responsive and so honest and true. I know you did not fake anything, and I just almost _burned_ in your fire. I have never had any experience like that before, not even with those two women I thought I loved. Let me tell you one thing, my darling: what you have given me last night was far better than those dreams I can not tell you about; better than anything my pervert imagination ever produced.”

To her surprise, Sansa did not feel offended by the idea of being a subject of the infamous Imp’s dirty fantasies. As if it actually flattered her?

_He corrupted me already._

She narrowed her eyes on him. But he looked so adorable with his morning hair: unruly curls sticking out everywhere. And so vulnerable, naked in her arms.

(Also, he was poking her belly with his morning cockstand. Which was kind of… arousing?)

“I am so grateful, Tyrion,” she murmured to his ear, “you gave me so much love, patience and attention. You showed me pleasures I have not imagined existed. I guess that's how it is when two people love each other, no?” She kissed his earlobe.

Tyrion tensed in her arms.

“What… why would you say that..?”

“You love me.” Sansa simply said. Tyrion looked down and sighed, defeated.

“Well, yes, I do. I suppose there is no point denying that. But I thought I was better in concealing my true feelings.”

Sansa giggled, tussled his hair. “My lord, in future if you want to conceal your feelings you may just not talk about them.”

“I never told you I loved you! I was very careful about that!”

His indignation made her laugh. “Yes, you did.”

“Oh, fuck…” now he looked almost miserable, “Have I been talking in my sleep?”

“No, my lord. You have been talking in your passion.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning: you told me you loved me yesterday at the moment of…, um, the peak of your pleasure.” She whispered.

“Fuck...I said it… out loud?”

“Yes, you did. I now understand you did not realise that. Well, that explains why you seemed to not grasp my reply.” Sansa decided it was time to put him out of his misery. He looked at her questionably.

“Yesterday, afterwards, I told you that… I you too… but you did not seem to understand. I meant that I love you too, Tyrion.”

“Sansa… don’t.” His voice was very small.

But she wasn’t afraid anymore. “Why not? It's true. I know that now. I told you before: I care for you, I admire you, I need you and now I also discovered that I want you. I assumed I could never want a man, but you have torn down my walls. I thought this through when I woke up this night. Now I can honestly say: _I love you_. And please know that you are beautiful to me, inside and out.”

Tyrion stared at her in disbelief. “Is it a dream?”

“It is not, my lord. We actually just woke up, apparently having accidentally consummated our marriage, five years after our wedding.” (At that, Tyrion finally laughed) “Perhaps we should repeat the action, just to make sure it is consummated properly and consciously…?” She looked at him playfully and closed her palm around his shaft.

“Shit, wife, you’ll be the death of me.” Tyrion huffed, but then sparks appeared in his gaze. He rolled them both surprisingly swiftly, and when he found himself on top, between her open legs, he started sucking on her neck, making her moan.

And then he moved down.

—

Tyrion decided to pretty much repeat most of his moves from the previous evening, and the effect was as good as he hoped: knowing what was going to happen next put Sansa at ease, helped her relax and open up for him even more. Tyrion decided that they had plenty of time for exploring new ideas and positions in the future: for now he was mostly determined to make her feel comfortable. And so he lavished her breasts with his lips and tongue, then he kissed her belly, then he sucked and licked her cunt. After she climaxed under his mouth, he made love to her with no rush, and spilled his seed deep inside her only after she came one more time. But this time they looked each other in the eyes while he was thrusting into her, and it felt so amazingly _real_ \- in the daylight, and with no wine in their veins clouding their perception. And somehow they just smiled to each other, and at some point they botheven laughed, happily. Later Tyrion realised that it was the first time in his life he ever actually _laughed_ during sex.

—

Afterwards, they slept a bit more.

When they woke up it was quite late - probably way past breakfast time. Tyrion opened his eyes first and realised there were trays with food left for them by some maid on a small table. He sat up, but before he managed to get out of the bed, Sansa - half-awake - grabbed his waist. “Where ya goin'?” She mumbled, and he laughed a little.

“We have breakfast, darling.”

She let him go, sat up herself. With some pleasure she looked at him while he left their bed, naked, and looked around for his shirt. He found it, eventually, tossed on the floor. To Sansa’s disappointment he pulled it on, and so he was dressed more or less, as the shirt covered him almost to his knees. But she also preferred to eat dressed, so she found her own shift, kicked down towards the foot of the bed, and put it on.

Tyrion brought their breakfast to the bed and climbed up to join her there. There were boiled eggs, ham, cheese, bread and some jams. It was all so _delicious_. Sansa ate twice as much as she usually did in the morning.

“This is the best breakfast I ever had,” she murmured and Tyrion grinned. He also found the breakfast very tasteful, although he recognised the ham, cheese, bread and jam as of the same sort that they had yesterday, and the day before. But indeed, this morning everything tasted better.

“Did you order the breakfast?” Sansa asked.

“No.” Tyrion chuckled, “I guess a maid saw us sleeping and probably Mrs Patmore decided to send trays for us. I’ll have to thank her, and for yesterday’s dinner.”

Sansa bit her cheek, thoughtful. Tyrion looked at her. “Are you uncomfortable with the thought of a servant seeing us in bed, together?”

“No.” She replied, calmly, “But I was thinking… shall we make some decisions on that issue? I didn’t have courage before, but now I think I may…. Ask you. Do you want to share my bed permanently, every night?”

Tyrion laughed a little, grabbed her hands, kissed her knuckles. ”Oh, my dear. Of course. For me it is kind of obvious that husband and wife sleep together. But I had no courage to ask you, either.” He admitted.

“I thought you would prefer to sleep in your own chambers.” Sansa explained, biting her lip.

“Why in the name of Seven would you think that?”

“Because, well… I thought it would be unfair to you to keep you here.” Tyrion raised his eyebrows in surprise, so she supplied, “We’ve made a deal that you would take me as your reluctant bride. That you would bed me, but because I would not enjoy it, it would happen rarely. So I thought it would be unkind of me, to have you in my bed every night and deny you, err… having me.”

Tyrion pursed his lips, suppressing a smile. His eyes laughed, though.

“Darling,” he eventually said, voice tender, “I told you I wanted physical closeness that goes beyond copulation. I accepted all your so called 'terrible conditions', and so…”

“No,” Sansa cut him off, “that part of our agreement is not valid anymore.”

“My Queen, you can’t do that!” Tyrion feigned indignation, “The deal has been sealed, for fuck’s sake, you can’t just change its terms now. We’ve _consummated_ our union! ”

Sansa laughed happily. _Oh, it sounded wonderful in his lips._

“I mean it, Sansa, you can’t just announce that one of the conditions is off, especially not when it comes to such an important aspect!”

“Very well, then,” Sansa took another piece of bread (because why not?) and put some jam on top of it. “Let’s _negotiate_. I propose an addendum to our agreement. Let’s resign of the reluctant bride paragraph, and cross off the seldom bedding part. Instead, you get a curious woman, intrigued by the possibilities she never knew she may want to discover.”

“Oh, Gods,” Tyrion laughed.

“I’m serious, Tyrion” Sansa waved her hand holding a slice of bread, “I’m not saying I am suddenly a wanton wife happy to couple all the time, but…”

“I hope not,” Tyrion interrupted, “because, my dear, I’m not that young anymore. And suddenly I find myself quite terrified by the prospect of being obligated to satisfy a 19-year-old wife. What if you turn out to be insatiable and I won’t manage?”

Sansa slapped his arm playfully, “oh, you’ll manage. And, by the way, the other 'terrible conditions' still stand. You won’t be a king and you won’t bed other women.”

“Yeah, like I have any stamina left for that.” Tyrion chuckled and Sansa slapped his arm even harder. Some of jam from the bread she held in the other hand landed on her knee.

“What I wanted to say,” Tyrion resumed with an impish grin, “is that after a long and _thoughtful_ deliberation…” (Sansa giggled at that,) “…I decided I may accept the new agreement. I’d take a curious wife instead of a reluctant bride.” And then, to Sansa’s surprise, he bent and licked the jam off her knee.

_Sansa suddenly thought that maybe one day they could have a breakfast in bed, but without those clothes. Then perhaps she could drop a bit of jam… elsewhere._

Embarrassed by her own thoughts, Sansa decided to cover up her discomfort by resuming their conversation.

“So, may I assume we agreed that we want to share our bed officially, from now on?”

“Absolutely.” Tyrion nodded.

“So, I thought,” she continued, “that we have to redecorate. Or even more: rebuilt, slightly. Because I’d like to have several private chambers, joined, with one corridor. I think we need a separate bedroom and a separate solar. With two desks. Chests for your clothes, others for mine, shelves for books… it’s time to design comfortable quarters for both of us here.”

“That reminds me, I have to get my things here, somehow. From King’s Landing, that is.” Tyrion murmured.

“What things?” Sansa’s brow frowned.

“Sansa, I came here for a month or two, with one traveling chest, do you think that is all I possess?” He shrugged, “I have some more clothes, shoes, books and other items, back in King’s Landing. Hell, I actually have some heirlooms left behind by my beloved deceased members of the Lannister Family.“ He winced, “I guess that at least some of that stuff should be passed to little Jaime. Anyway, I should have someone deliver that here, I suppose.”

“Well then, my lord,” Sansa sighed, “I guess we should get up, get on with this busy day and start making arrangements.”

(She would much prefer to stay abed with her husband all day long. But they both knew their duties.)

—

At the time of the midday meal Tyrion approached the great hall and was met by Ser Brienne, who looked at him in a very specific way: a mixture of approval, curiosity and amusement. Tyrion narrowed his eyes at her, suspiciously.

“What is it, my lady?”

“Nothing.” The lady knight smirked.

Tyrion bit his lip. “Have you been talking to our Queen about something today?”

“Perhaps…” Brienne grinned. “I gather your evening went well.”

“Yes, I would say it did.” He replied cautiously. Brienne winked and Tyrion was quite certain now: Sansa must have talked to her. “What did she tell you?”

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know…” Brienne chuckled and Tyrion felt irritated. “But well done, my lord.”

And then she added, “You have a guest, by the way. An unexpected one.”

“A guest?” Tyrion was surprised. He entered the great hall and saw a man sitting by one of the tables, his back towards the entrance. His nonchalant posture was enough for Tyrion to recognise him. Also, a maid was serving him some ale, and when she leaned in to pour he smacked her backside in quite a familiar gesture.

“Ser Bronn of the Blackwater! What a surprise.”

Tyrion approached the former sellsword, and Bronn turned around to face him, smirking. The maid poured some ale to Tyrion as well, and Tyrion sat next to Bronn.

“Long time no see, you little shit.” For Ser Bronn that was rather a polite greeting. “I gather you made up your mind to freeze your balls off here in the North?”

But he raised his cup, so Tyrion did the same, smirking.

“And I gather you have not came here to meet me with a crossbow this time?”

“Nah,” Bronn drained the rest of his ale in one go and waved to the maid to order a refill.

“And I am not actually freezing my balls off.” Tyrion explained, “It can be surprisingly warm here in Winterfell.”

“I bet it can!” Bronn snorted, “Speaking of which, I am in need of a comfy bed, preferably with more than one extra body to warm it. Be a good friend and recommend me some.”

“There is a whorehouse in Wintertown, as I assume you already know.” Tyrion replied, “But I have nothing to tell you about any girls working there.”

“Yeah, like I’m going to believe that.” Bronn narrowed his eyes on Tyrion, “I know you too well, you fucker. I know you had your issues and for some reasons you quit whoring for a while. But I saw you now walking in this room, and I can tell you that: you are practically skipping. And you have that spark in your eyes, the one I haven’t seen for years. Just be honest and admit it: you had some good fucking last night.”

Tyrion decided not to dignify it with an answer, focused on drinking his ale.

“Hey. I asked you a question.” Bronn wasn’t going to let this go.

“What question?” Tyrion played innocent. But Bronn was not easy to be put off. “Did you have a good fucking last night?”

Tyrion was still silent, drinking, but very suddenly the sound of the Queen clearing her throat surprised him so much that he actually chocked on his ale. She must have entered the great hall earlier and now stood behind their backs - but when exactly? Did she hear Bronn’s question?

“Your Grace.” Bronn only slightly raised his arse from the chair and tilted his head, which could hardly count as a bow. Sansa didn’t seem to mind, though. She sat across them by the table; gave Bronn a regal, but not entirely unkind look. Then turned to Tyrion with somehow wicked smile. “I apologise, my lord, for interrupting your conversation with your friend. Please, continue… I believe Ser Bronn asked you a question.”

Tyrion’s jaw dropped. He looked at Sansa, at first indignant, but then sparks of amusement lit up his gaze. She was truly a wonder, that wife of his. Her brazenness amazed him… and aroused, a bit.

He pursed his lips and gave her a challenging look. “Oh, if that is how you want to play it…” he murmured, “be careful, Your Grace, you’re not used to the company of such dirty perverts like the two of us.”

“Speak for yourself, Imp,” Bronn interrupted, “I’m a fancy man now, seriously.”

“You are a _married_ man, I heard.” Tyrion pointed out, “In fact therefore you should not seek my advice about a local brothel.”

(Sansa raised her eyebrow, but all together she was not really alarmed. She knew Tyrion did not go there, she trusted him.)

Bronn sighed. “Wife can be tiring. And so can be a mistress. It gets even worse when you find yourself two… of each.” He stretched his legs under the table. “I just need a break from those women. But that doesn’t mean I can’t have a nice fuck to relax after the journey.” He looked at Sansa and explained, “Apologies, Your Grace, that is certainly not for the ladies’ ears. I just assumed he could give me some recommendation because he looks like he got laid last night.”

Sansa pursed her lips to hide her amusement. She turned towards Tyrion. “What do you say fo that, my lord?”

“I say that I decided not to dignify Ser Bronn’s rude questions with my replies. I am not sure why you push me to answer, as of all the people you are _the only one_ who actually knows what exactly did I get last night. Although, should we call it ‘last night’, really?” Now he turned to Bronn, “Ser, would you care to be more specific: does last evening _and_ this morning count together, as ‘last night’?”

Sansa gasped and blushed. Tyrion looked at her with expression of _See, I told you not to play with me_.

When his words sunk in, Bronn looked at Tyrion (suspiciously), then at Sansa (surprised), and then again at Tyrion (disbelieving). “Wait a minute… is there something going on between the two of you?”

“We’re married, Ser Bronn, I thought you knew it. I think you actually witnessed our wedding.” Sansa straighten up her spine. Tyrion couldn’t help himself and chuckled a little at Bronn’s astonished expression.

It took Bronn some time to get himself together. Then he looked at Tyrion and raised his eyebrow. “So what, is it for real now?”

“It is.” Tyrion replied.

“And what, you’re a fucking King in the North now?”

“No.” Tyrion smirked and sipped his ale, restraining himself from adding _but I’m fucking Queen in the North._ “I am the Prince consort, and the Hand of the Queen.”

“Only the hand…?” Bron chuckled and Tyrion gave him pointy (and a bit dirty) look.

Bronn laughed, “Ah, I see… well, good for you.” Then he addressed Sansa, who tried to keep her dignity in this conversation, “No offence, Your Grace, but I told him like five years ago that he wanted to fuck you, he just denied it. I am happy to hear he managed to overcome his… denial.I wish you a long and happy marriage.” Sansa politely tilted her head in a gesture of appreciation.

At this point Brienne entered the hall, and joined them by the table at Sansa’s side, much to the Queen’s relief. Soon the servants followed, serving all of them a midday meal.

“I apologise for joining you late,” Brienne muttered, “Jaime got somehow fussy.”

“Kingslayer’s son, isn’t he?” Bronn asked, casually, “Congratulations. I was quite surprised when I received a raven from king Bran. He informed all the Great Houses about the new heir to Casterly Rock. So,” he turned to Tyrion again, “You lost your inheritance, aye? Would feel sorry for you, but I guess you found some consolation here in the North” He threw a bit dirty look at Sansa, but she chose to ignore it.

“I did not _lost_ anything, I gave it up myself…” Tyrion started to feel irritated by Bronn’s presence all together. “Tell me again, why are you here, exactly?”

Bronn swallowed a spoonful of his stew.

“I wanted to take a break from my domestic life.” He sighed, “My wife is pregnant, and somehow I feel I want to be out of her way for a time.”

“Oh, really?” Tyrion narrowed his eyes. Brienne and Sansa both gave Bronn icy look. “Is that all?”

“Well…” Bronn clearly felt uncomfortable, “Somehow it turned out that the other two are expecting as well… at some point I realised I can’t cope with three crazy women at the same time. They are all well taken care of, I provided everything they may need, but I just have to to stay away for a moonturn or two. I thought I may travel North, check out if there are any deals we could do. Some trade agreements, perhaps? I may buy some lumber, or something…” He felt rather uncomfortable under the cold gaze of two women at the table. He cleared his throat. “So, I took a chance king Bran offered and I took the job of delivering your stuff here to Winterfell. I went to White Harbor, I picked up the packages that the king shipped for you, and I escorted it all here. It’s a cart full of your belongings, my lord. I recon you’re staying here for good, aye?”

Tyrion and Sansa looked at each other, surprised.

“When did Bran ship all of that?” 

“About three weeks ago, I’d say.” Bronn replied.

“That’s when you offered me a job of your Hand.” Tyrion whispered. Sansa blushed a little and smiled. “Well, I suppose he knows by now that there’s more to it.”

—

When they finished their midday meal, servants started to bring chests and trunks into the great hall. They unloaded the entire cart that Bronn brought with him from the White Harbor.

Tyrion’s belongings were packed very methodically - he suspected that Meera Reed may have had something to do with that. Separate package for books, separate for shoes, separate for clothes. Some more containing other stuff: a couple of candlesticks, inkwells, quills, paper knives. Then a few plates, cups, some cutlery, and ivory caskets.

They looked into those packages together: him, Sansa and Brienne, as Bronn excused himself to “rest" a bit after his journey.

And there were two boxes of some other items, which Tyrion quickly secured aside. “Those we’ll take to our chambers.” he told Sansa.

Finally, they unwrapped a long package... inside there was a sword. And a golden hand.

Brienne gasped.

Sansa frowned.

Tyrion sighed.

“I kept those Jaime’s things, I don’t know why, really.”

“You inherited them after your elder brother. They are yours.” Brienne said.

“Well then, I guess they should be inherited by his son.” Tyrion said giving the package to Brienne. But she pushed it away. “No, I don’t want him to have that.” She replied sharply. “I don’t want to see that stupid golden hand ever again. And I don’t want little Jaime to ponder upon that aspect of his father’s life.”

“I don’t want it either, I hate it.” Tyrion shrugged.

“It’s solid gold.” Sansa interrupted their musings, “Just have it melted, and stop treating it like some kind of relic. It’s a chunk of Lannister gold; spend it. And I agree, it should be used for Jaime’s needs. If his father were alive, I would expect him to buy the boy a pony, and a set of armour when he’s older. Just keep the gold, Brienne and use it for your son.”

(Tyrion looked at Sansa in awe. What a sensible woman she was. He knew very well that he had some self-destructive tendencies, and was prone to falling into stupor or turmoil. He suddenly realised how lucky he was to have such a level-headed partner by his side.)

“What about the sword?” He asked. “It’s Valyrian steel.”

“I think I would like my son to have my sword when he grows up.” Brienne replied, softly. “And it was a gift from Jaime, so either way - the boy would get a weapon that once belonged to his father.”

“And so once again there will be a Valyrian sword in Casterly Rock.” Tyrion whispered, “But what about this one?”

Brienne shrugged. And suddenly, Sansa stated: “I want it.”

Tyrion looked at her questionably. She held his gaze and explained, “I believe I can have it. If Brienne doesn't want it, then you inherit it, and as your wife I can ask for it.”

“Of course, you can…” Tyrion said softly, “and it’s yours if you want it. But may I ask: why?”

“It’s Widow’s Wail, isn’t it?” Sansa asked, and Tyrion nodded. “Joffrey’s sword. He destroyed your precious present with it, and said 'Every time I use it, it'll be like cutting off Ned Stark's head all over again.' I believe he never had a chance to use it, though." there was a vindictive spark in her gaze, "But ah, Joffrey was attached to his swords, wasn't he? You know, he made me kiss one - the Hearteater he called it, I think.”

“What? When?”

“Before the Battle of the Blackwater.”

“Ah, yes,” Tyrion snorted, “Chivalric king. Made his fiancée kiss the sword and then fled from the field. But I remember,” his voice soften, “how you told me back then that you would pray for my safe return.”

“Ah yes.” Sansa nodded, “I told you I would pray for your safe return, just as I prayed for the king’s. I lied, Tyrion.” She said, looking him in the eyes.

He looked away, feigning indifference, “ah well, I should have known that.”

“I lied, because I never prayed for the king’s return.” Sansa stated firmly, “I wanted him to drop dead, although I had little hope that could happen. But the truth is I _did_ pray for your survival that night. Believe it or not, I really did. But only for yours, not for his.”

Tyrion raised his head, surprised. Looked her in the eyes. “Truly?” He whispered. (Brienne thought she would like to be elsewhere. She somehow felt she interrupted a private moment.)

“Yes.” Sansa smiled. And then she turned to Brienne, “So, ser Brienne. Can I have this sword?”

“Of course.” The Lady Knight relaxed, “I think Jaime once mentioned that the Oathkeeper he gave me and his sword were sister blades.”

“That’s fitting,” Sansa remarked, “I suppose I can call myself an aunt of your son, which makes me kind of your sister. We could very well own sister blades.”

Tyrion’s eyes suddenly widened. He remembered now what he learned about those weapons. “My father mentioned that his gift for Joffrey was one of only two swords of Valyrian steel in King's Landing… I was curious. And another was his gift to Jaime. And so I found out… that he made them of Ned Stark’s blade.”

Sansa looked at him, surprised. “Ice?! Joffrey’s sword was made of my father’s Ice?!”

Tyrion didn’t know what to say. Luckily, Brienne broke the tension. “It seems that this steel is destined to protect the North. Your father’s sword was split in two, but then both halves were wield against the dead, one in Jaime’s hand, and the other in mine, during the Long Night.”

“Yes…” Sansa looked at the sword. “And now they are both here, back in Winterfell. All the more reason for me to keep this one. It is a Valyrian blade that belongs to Winterfell. The other may end up in Casterly Rock.”

—

Later, in the evening, Tyrion and Sansa went on with unpacking some of his chests brought up to their chambers: started with the one with clothes. Sansa couldn’t help herself and examined his garments: spotting missing buttons, threads sticking out, small rips. She selected the items that needed mending.

Tyrion was touched by her wifely care.

Eventually, they spent the evening on a settee by the hearth.

She was mending his clothes, while he was massaging her feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Dear Readers, I have a question - because one of those boxes Tyrion secured is filled with some "personal" stuff. Now my question is: can any of you tell me what items did Bronn pick up in the show in the scene where Tyrion and Bronn talked about Iron Bank and loans? I assume that the thing on a wardrobe was a dildo (?! strangely carved, though, and why would Tyrion keep it so high, basically out of his own reach?) but what about the others? I would very much appreciate your thoughts on that.  
> And of course i VERY MUCH APPRECIATE any comments on the chapter <3


	20. Learning new things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some little smut and then some more talking. You see, that's why I added a tag #Talking&Fucking (works the other way round as well).
> 
> In the 'talking' part I quoted "The Romance of the Rose": a 13th century poem, second part by Jean de Meun. Original is medieval French; here I quote English poetic translation by A. S. Kline © Copyright 2019 (https://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/French/LeRomanDeLaRoseContinuationhome.php#highlightroman+de+la+rose)
> 
> Also, a warning: there is a talk on pubic hair removal in this chapter :o   
> I must confess, I came across some opinion that pissed me off: that in general Game of Thrones is set in the late-medieval European setting, but someone somewhere pointed out to all the depilated girls in the show, as if it were something MODERN, like: of the 21st century. Now I want to say: NO !!! Medieval ladies removed their pubic hair (and other hair, and also they plucked eyebrows to shape them) and we have some interesting recipes for depilatory creams e.g. in the 12th century "De curis mulierum" ("On Treatments for Women", attributed to the Salernitan female practitioner Trota of Salerno).

Sansa felt giddy.

Yesterday they had a very intimate morning together; but in the evening they did not make love again, as at some point she dozed off by the hearth, so Tyrion only guided her to bed, half-asleep. In the morning he woke her up with kisses, but they had to get up rather quickly, as they had appointments with local tradesmen scheduled before noon.

Now she was thinking about the upcoming evening: would they make love again? Should she propose that, or should she wait for his move?

Meanwhile, Tyrion tried to calm himself down. He felt as if he unleashed a lustful beast he managed to keep tamed for years now. He wanted his wife so much… and he did not want to scare her off, nor to make her feel she ought to have adjusted to his infamous appetites… and so he was thinking about the upcoming evening. Could they make love again? Or should he try to slow things down?

When the evening came, they both sat at dinner in private chambers. Tyrion filled their glasses with wine and proposed a toast: “My beloved wife, would you drink with me to celebrate our reunion?”

“Gladly,” Sansa smiled, “tell me, my lord, how would you like to spend this evening?”

Tyrion looked into his cup, dreamingly. Then raised his head to look into Sansa’s eyes. “As a lord of Winterfell I should probably adore the Winter, but would you judge me if I said I wanted to sink in the warmth?”

Sansa laughed, and Tyrion felt like the richest man in the world. Making her laugh was almost as satisfying as making her come.

“My lord, I have nothing against warmth. Would you like to sit by the fire? Or take a hot bath?”

“A bath!” Tyrion decided quickly, “as long as we are in the tub together. A flagon of wine and a bowl of snacks by our side, what do you say?”

Sansa found that prospect oddly exciting.

“Mmm, and the essential oils,” she mused, “would you like relaxing ingredients or invigorating ones?”

Now it was Tyrion’s turn to laugh. “Relaxing, please, I have been very much invigorated lately.” At that Sansa chuckled. It felt so good to be together with Tyrion, japing like that. She realised she never felt so at ease, not ever, really.

And so, they called for a bath.

It was strangely liberating: to undress together, but not to make love. It felt so natural: to strip just to get into tub; there was something primal about it. And suddenly Sansa simply took off her clothes, not thinking about her scars anymore.

Tyrion undressed too, and She looked at him, fondly. He appeared _beautiful_ to her - his compact body so familiar. She noticed, though, that his cock enlarged while he took a look at her naked body. It was so… flattering!

Tyrion followed her gaze. “Ignore it, my dear,” he smirked, “I am a lustful beast and you are the most beautiful woman there ever was. Let’s get on with our bath.” He used a small wooden steps to get into the tub. Sansa joined him - they sat at the opposite ends of the tub, facing each other, legs intertwined.

Sansa always liked taking bath, inhaling scents of herbs and oils, warming herself with hot water, caressing her skin with soap. But only now she discovered what a pleasure a bath can be.

Staying in that warm water together... sipping wine, nipping snacks. Talking and laughing. Sitting in silence. Touching delicately under the surface of the water.

All of that was so… joyful.

Alas, finally the water cooled - and so they left the tub, dried themselves and went to bed. Settled naked under the furs.

“Ahhh, that was relaxing” Tyrion murmured, nestling himself against pillows. Sansa smiled and bent to kiss him tenderly.

Slowly, their hands wandered through their bodies. Their kiss deepened.

Sansa’s palm massaged Tyrion’s chest, and then lower, his stomach. And then she closed her fingers around his hardened shaft.

Tyrion moaned into her mouth.

There was something Sansa wanted to explore. She thought about it earlier, and the idea came back to her when they sat in the tub.

She thought about licking his cock.

She heard about “sucking cocks” in vulgar conversations of the soldiers. She thought it was disgusting, earlier - but now, with Tyrion, the idea did not seem disgusting at all anymore. She felt the urge to kiss him _everywhere,_ just as he did to her. She really appreciated how he licked her womanhood and wanted to return the favour. Not out of duty, but simply because she needed to make him feel good. And also, she wanted to know if she _could_.

But she had to talk to him about that first.

“Tyrion,” she said, ending their kiss, “don’t laugh at me, there is something intimate I want to talk about.”

“I would never laugh,” Tyrion reassured, warmly, “what is it, my love?”

“Would you like me to… suck your… manhood?”

If Tyrion sipped his wine at this moment, he would surely choke on it.

He inhaled a sharp breath. Licked his lips.

“I… well, it would be most pleasurable… but sweetheart, I don’t want to make you _do_ things… that you don’t want to… that ladies don’t.”

Sansa narrowed her eyes at him. “So, ladies don’t lick their husbands, but lords lick their wives?”

Tyrion chuckled, “I suspect many lords never lick their wives either. I am no ordinary lord, though.”

“Am I an ordinary lady?” Sansa grinned and so did Tyrion. “Absolutely not. You are the most extraordinary lady there ever was.”

“So…” Sansa pulled away the furs, revealing Tyron’s nakedness. He was rock hard by now. “You seem to be eager, my lord.”

Slowly, he parted his legs and she positioned herself between them. Took his shaft in her hand, stroking gently... playing a little with foreskin that revealed the head of his cock, pink and shiny.

Tyrion gasped.

“Tell me how,” Sansa whispered, getting close with her mouth to his tip.

“Delicately,” he murmured, not wanting to scare her off, “take me to your mouth. Be careful with your teeth, darling…”

Sansa experimentally ran her tongue against the smooth skin of the head of his cock. Outside it was like velvet, but the part from under the foreskin was like silk. She took it into her mouth. Sucking gently, she swirled her tongue around it. He tasted salty… but also kind of sweet.

“Yes, yes, just like that…” Tyrion whispered, “and now harder, please…”

She started moving up and down, covering her teeth with her lips, making sure not to hurt him. She rhythmically swirled her tongue around his tip.

Tyrion arched his back, grabbed sheets with his fists. He threw his head back, incapable of comprehending anything at this point, really. He had hundreds of whores suck him off back in the days, but it _never_ felt so glorious.

Of course it was way too long since any mouth wrapped around his cock, but the experience was extraordinary not only because he missed it. It was Sansa, for fuck’s sake, who sucked him right now - and she was tentative, and inexperienced, and perhaps a little stressed all together, and she did not dare to take him deeper towards her throat - but still, he felt as if he died and went straight to the Seventh Heaven. Way too soon he understood he was going to spill his seed, and so he panted “Sansa, I’m going… oh Gods,…. I can’t…” and then she speeded up, so he was lost. He really hoped she would back away in time, but he couldn’t control himself anymore. And as a result he forcefully ejaculated straight into her mouth.

Sansa was a bit surprised with the amount of liquid that sprang into her - she thought it would be less, and she did not manage to swallow it all; some of it leaked of the corners of her lips. But it was still rather a satisfying experience; especially because her husband seemed completely undone afterwards. So vulnerable, lying naked with his legs spread, his cock wet and flushed, softening, exposed. It was terrifying, really, how arousing all of that was. She actually got _wet_.

She bent and placed a soft tender kiss against this lips.

That sweet loving gesture and the taste of his seed on her mouth was too much for Tyrion to bare: when she moved away, he hid his face in his palms, suppressing a sob. No woman was ever so good to him. Not even Shae. Not even Tysha.

Sansa looked at Tyrion fondly, while he was getting himself together.

“I have an inkling why ladies don’t do that.” She eventually remarked, rather smugly.

“Why is that…?” Tyrion was curious what her explanation would be.

“Because it is giving the lady way too much power… I suppose not many lords are ready to surrender their most vulnerable parts this way.”

Tyrion pursed his lips. He never thought of a blowjob this way before - on a contrary, he rather assumed the whores were servicing him by sucking him off. But Sansa had a point here: it required a certain amount of trust to let someone take your most intimate parts into their mouth. Besides, he was not going to argue: Sansa apparently enjoyed her power and if _that_ was how she was going to interpret oral pleasures, he would not complain about that.

“You are the Queen, all power is yours.” He supplied, gently guiding her to lie back against the pillows. Then he positioned himself between her legs.

“Now, my Queen, let me pleasure you…” he murmured towards her damp curls, smirking. For a brief moment Sansa realised that her perception on those activities was somehow incoherent: when Tyrion licked her, she felt well taken-care of; she felt almost worshiped by him. But when she licked _him_ a moment ago, she did not feel like those roles got reversed - not entirely, anyway. She still felt like a queen: in charge, in control. Either way, she she was the one who was satisfied.

But she didn’t have a chance to muse further on this subject, because Tyrion’s lips and tongue were on her pussy now, and _oh, never mind_.

Tyrion licked her into orgasm with an expert skill, and he didn’t stop after she peaked. Keeping his pace slow and being careful not to lap too hard on her oversensitive clit, he guided her into the second climax before the first one actually passed.

This time he did not finger her, keeping his palms on her buttocks, but he fucked her with his tongue instead. The next morning he realised he got so enthusiastic by the end that he actually torn his frenulum a little bit.

It was totally worth it.

—

Unpacking Tyrion’s things took a couple of days all together, as they needed to arrange their shared space in the chambers.

Apparently one of the boxes that Tyrion secured to be brought into their bedroom contained some important items; Sansa observed as he sat with it on his lap. As if he could’t really get himself to open it.

“What is it, dear?” She encouraged him softly.

He looked up at her. “This is the box of things I asked Addam Morbrand to send me from Casterly Rock. Some heirlooms after… my Mother.”

Sansa sat by his side, put her arm around his shoulder. He leaned in, grateful, resting his temple against her.

“I did that after Bran told me… he told me he looked back at the day of my birth. He told me that she didn’t die immediately… that before she passed away, she held me, she saw me and accepted me. That she loved me.”

“I’m not surprised,” Sansa replied warmly, “Just like my aunt Lyanna loved Jon and made sure my father would secure his future. Women die in childbirth sometimes, Tyrion, but it does not make them hate their children.”

(Tyrion’s throat tighten, because he understood what she implied. Now that they started having sex, she would most likely end up pregnant sooner or later. That was the point, really. But he did not want to think about it now.)

“Well, anyway,” he sighed, “Now I have those things here.” He opened the box and started taking out its contents.

Golden earrings. Golden rings. Golden brooch in a shape of the Lannister lion. Some handkerchiefs embroidered with lions. An ink pot with engraved inscription “Hear Me Roar”.

“Well, that one I may actually use myself.” Tyrion smirked, putting the ink pot on the desk. “The rest of stuff is a bit too feminine for me.”

“Well, the handkerchiefs could be used by anyone with runny nose… and it’s not difficult to catch a cold here in the North.” Sansa murmured. Tyrion threw an indignant look on her. “I am not wiping my wet nose into my departed mother’s handkerchiefs.” He remarked. Then shrugged, “well, I would offer those items to you, but I am aware you would not want to use them.”

“No, darling.” Sansa pressed a soft kiss to his temple, “but thank you.”

“So what do I do with them?” Tyrion looked at her, “I don’t know why, but I somehow don’t feel like giving this to little Jaime.”

“Keep it.” Sansa replied, casually, “you don’t have to give up everything. It’s yours. Perhaps one day we have a daughter you would like to give those things to. Because even though our children would be Starks, I do not wish to cut them off their Lannister heritage.”

Tyrion smiled at that. “Thank you, Sansa,” he said firmly, “I very much appreciate that.”

There was also a book in the box. Sansa took it and looked at a front page. Of course, there was a Lannister ex-libris there. She read the title.

“The Romance of the Rose, by Maester Guillemus?! Oh, but I know this poem, I loved it when I was a girl. I think we have a copy here in our library. But wait, it seemed… thinner?”

Tyrion chuckled. “Yes, I saw your copy. You only have the first part, by Maester Guillemus. But this, this is a whole poem, with the second part written a few decades later by Maester Jehan.”

Sansa’s eyes widened, “There is a second part?!” And then, intrigued: “Did the lover manage to get the Rose?”

Tyrion laughed. “Yes, he did get...her. Not much happened plot-wise in the second part, but there’s quite lot of musing on various topics there. And I am not surprised that this second part was not shown to you when you were a girl; it is not exactly…. decent.”

Sansa raised her eyebrow. “Now I definitively want to read that.” She stated. “Unless… you want to read it to me?”

“Hm…” Tyrion was thoughtful, “I could, but… well, I must be honest: there are certain lines I really don’t like.”

“Good,” Sansa smirked, “you’ll tell me which ones, and we discuss them together.”

And so, for the next couple of evenings Tyrion read the poem out loud, with his beautiful deep voice. Sansa soon understood why certain fragments were not to his liking. She also realised why she was never told by her septa that there was a second part of “The Romance of the Rose” ever written.

“ _In short, they’re faithless and deceive_

_These imps, who everywhere achieve_

_Their wish, so we should do likewise,_

_Love more than one, if we are wise._

Now here I mustremark,” Tyrion stopped reading and Sansa suppressed a giggle, knowing what was coming, “the reference to ‘the imps’, allegedly deceitful, is rather unfair. Also, please, my dear wife, do not take advice from the subsequent verses.

_Foolish is she who doth not so,_

_Many a lover she should know,_

_And to distraction, if she can,_

_She should drive them, every man._ ”

At that, Sansa just laughed. But a bit later, it got even worse.

“ _She may promise him in return,_

_But must be careful, in her turn,_

_Never to give herself away,_

_Unless some money comes her way_.”

“Oh, Gods!” Sansa was really amused, “Is that some kind of whores’ guide?”

“It is a masterpiece of chivalric poetry. And you would be surprised how many highborn ladies are corrupted like that. Whores are at least honest.” Tyrion replied bitterly.

“Hm.” Sansa raised his eyebrow at him. “You told me before you did not have a lot of experience with highborn ladies.”

“I didn’t fuck them.” Tyrion explained, “but that does not mean I didn’t meet them. Seven Hells, my sister was a highborn and a queen, and she fucked around, make no mistake. When Jaime was imprisoned by your brother, she took our cousin Lancel to her bed. I used this knowledge against him and made him spy on her for me.” Tyrion chuckled at the memory and Sansa’s eyes widened.

But Tyrion resumed reading.

“ _And when they set about their work,_

_Each should labour, and neither shirk,_

_And use such care that both, as one,_

_Reach their delight in unison,_

_Such that both find pleasure, or none,_

_Ere their task together is done._

_And thus they must wait on each other,_

_To achieve what’s good together;_

_Nor either leave the other behind,_

_Nor cease to voyage, to my mind,_

_Till together they reach harbour,_

_Thus complete will be their pleasure_.”

“Wait, what?!” Sansa interrupted, “how come ’together’? ‘Reach delight in unison?' Literally?”

“Um, yes, I think so.” Tyrion shifted in his chair, “But it should not be put this way… in general, the point is that many men don’t care about women’s pleasure, they just take theirs. A man should learn how to restrain from climaxing, to wait for his lady to come first. But there is no reason for the lady to wait, as women are capable of peaking several times in a row. But yes, I suppose it is a special pleasure when the two manage to come together at the same moment.”

“Did you ever experience that?” Sansa asked with a small voice.

Tyrion shrugged, “I think, yes, a few times. At least, I would assume so, but then the question is if they didn’t fake orgasms for my benefit.”

“Fake…? Orgasms?” Sansa was truly surprised. Tyrion looked at her sadly. He truly did not want to enlighten her on this subject.

But he resumed reading, anyway.

“ _And if she finds no pleasure in it,_

_She should feign delight each minute,_

_Pretend, in every way she knows,_

_To what’s appropriate to those_

_Who make love; and seem grateful too,_

_For what she deems not worth a sou_.”

He raised his head, his gaze melancholic. “Men don’t fake their pleasure, because, well, we spill our seed - that is not something we may pretend. But women often act. I just wish…” his voice went small, “I wish you never did.”

“Why would I?” Sansa was confused.

“To make me feel better? To make me finish already, when you are bored or uncomfortable? I don’t know…”

Sansa grabbed Tyrion’s hands and squeezed them. “Never, Tyrion.” She promised, “I will never fake anything, I will always be honest and true to you.”

She bent to kiss him and he leaned in, grateful. “Thank you, Sansa,” he whispered.

But then Tyrion proceeded to the part where various advices were given to the ladies in reference to their looks. And finally:

“ _She’ll keep Venus’ chamber neat,_

_If she’s well brought up, I’d say,_

_All the cobwebs she’ll sweep away,_

_Scour and trim, and smooth and gloss,_

_So that naught can gather moss._ ”

“Err….” Sansa murmured, “Does that mean what I think it does?”

“It depends what you think, darling,” Tyrion chuckled, “but I suppose…. Yes. I believe this is a reference to, um, lower hair removal.”

“Entirely?” Sansa raised her eyebrow. She trimmed her curls down there a bit, kept the nestle neat, but it never occurred to her to get rid of it completely. Tyrion would rather avoid this conversation, as it again pushed them towards musing on his experience with women, that is: whores. “I recon not necessarily in the North,” he replied remembering some girls from the brothel in Wintertown. “But then I am not sure why ‘scour’ - that sounds drastic. I suppose it should rather read ‘shave’.”

At this point it was Sansa who looked at him, amused.

“My lord,” she supplied,” that is just a reference to a depilatory cream. I just wouldn’t think about using it…. there.”

“Now I am the one who does not know what it is about.” Tyrion narrowed his eyes at her.

Sansa was torn between an instinct that told her she should keep her feminine secrets to herself, and an urge to enjoy he situation of being in position of knowledge that apparently Tyrion did not possess. It was flattering to be the wiser one at least for once.

“There are recipes for certain creams,” she finally explained, “that we apply on the skin and after a while - we rinse. They take all the hair away.”

Tyrion looked at her, incredulous. “But, wait, you don’t do that, do you?”

For the first time it was Sansa who had a chance to give him the _oh my sweet summer child_ look. “Tyrion, do you assume that women’s legs are naturally smooth and hairless?”

“Well, yes….” Tyrion was suddenly most uncomfortable, “Just as I assume women can’t grow beards or chest hair. Are you going to tell me that I’m wrong?” He looked terrified now, and she couldn’t help herself and laughed a little. “No, don’t worry. No beard and no chest hair. But we do remove hair of our legs and armpits. I once walked on my lady mother when she sat in a tub with her legs up on the rim, and the maid was applying cream on her calves. I think I was around 10 or 11… It was a day when father and elder boys went hunting or something, and she told me it was her ‘lady’s day.’ She let me stay with her then… and told me many interesting things.” Sansa smiled gently at the memory.

“Fun fact, though,” she chuckled, “you know how my calves look like so I may as well say that. Apparently hair don’t grow on scars.”

“I know!!” Tyrion exclaimed, “I am combing my beard to cover a piece of my cheek, because…” and then he suddenly burst into laughter, “What the fuck are we talking about?”

“I don’t know!” Sansa laughed too. _Did she just tell him about her depilatory cream?_ But she felt so comfortable with him.

And then she felt she had to ask.

“Tyrion… would you prefer me to be, um, smooth down there?”

“No.” He shook his head. He didn’t want to say that explicitly, but southern whores (including Shae) always removed their pubic hair… and he so very much enjoyed the fact that for the first time in his life he was able to make love to a proper lady, _not_ a whore.

Sansa just smiled at him and nodded. He smiled back and resumed reading “The Romance of the Rose”.

—

That evening, when they made love, they climaxed together for the first time.

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... there you go. That is how a fanfiction written by a crazy medievalist looks like. 
> 
> Are you still here....?


	21. The Queen on the Ride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all the Gods, dear Readers, I appreciate how kind you are, but I only now realised that I misspelled here “sighed” into “sighted”, like, in EVERY damn chapter. Why no-one told me!? You know how long it takes to edit 20 chapters looking for one word?! And apparently, in my story characters sigh a lot! They sometimes enjoy some sight as well, but not as often.  
> Of course I do not expect you to make a proofreading for me, but please, if you see that I repeat some particular mistake, please let me know! Because I very much rationalise my writing here as “practicing my English” - and I sooooo need this rationalisation ;)
> 
> Also, the items that Tyrion unpacks here in this chapter are mostly based on actual medieval stuff. The pilgrim badge depicting penises worshiping vagina you can see here: https://otulinablog.pl/en/2019/04/29/phallus-vulva/ (third illustration for this post: Crowned vulva carried on a bier by three phallic figures, 1375-1425, Van Beuningen family collection), and the vessel (aquamanile) is an object from the collection of the MET (https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/459202).
> 
> And finally, a warning: second part of this chapter (starting from "Tyrion woke up at dawn") is much about menstruation. In the show Cersei said to Sansa during the Battle of the Blackwater: “Fitting, isn't it? The men will bleed out there, and you will bleed in here.” - and it kind of gave me rather naive romanic idea for a conversation, after Tyrion was seriously injured in that very battle. So I decided to explore it here, and also I kind of wanted to look into the growth of their intimacy in non-sexual aspects, but rather in learning about each other’s bodies, as I believe it is important in a deep relationship. But I understand that for some Readers the subject of menstruation may be icky (?), so I decided to warn you, guys. ;)

The other box secured by Tyrion contained much more peculiar items. He decided to show her its contents a few days later.

“These are just some interesting objects I spotted on various markets, travelling around Essos and Westeros.” He explained casually, with a shrug.“A few books: some prose and some poetry. Some metalwork, some ivory. I appreciate applied arts, you know.”

“Um, sure,” Sansa raised her eyebrows. She did not decide to check out the prose books, but took a look at the poetry. Blushed instantly after reading first verses.

There were also indecent ivory figures, as well as tablets decorated with reliefs of most definitively improper subjects. And there was even some kind of broach. Sansa stared at it for a few seconds.

“Could you please tell me what that is?”

“Those are walking penises worshipping vagina.” Tyrion explained matter-of-factly.

Sansa slapped his arm, irritated. “I can see that! I meant: what…. Why? Where did you find that? Who would produce such a thing?”

“Oh, it was sold in the temple in Meereen.” Tyrion chuckled, “Some kind of pilgrim badge, distributed by the Red Graces. A specific aspect of Ghiscari religion.”

Sansa winced, which made him laugh. “Oh, come on, Sansa, it’s beautiful, really. My cock most certainly worships you pussy. And don’t pretend you don’t like it.”

She couldn’t help herself and smirked. But she felt a need to change the subject, so she reached for another item from the box. It seemed to be some kind of metal sculpture.

“What is this?!”

“A spouted vessel.” Tyrion shrugged. As if it were a very ordinary and obvious thing.

Sansa looked at the item closer. Indeed, there was a small tap under the male figure’s chin. There was also a small hole at the back of a female figure head. They were obviously empty inside, so indeed the whole object could have been filled with liquid.

But the figures were most…indecent. Even though both figures depicted people fully dressed!

The lady in a fashionable dress sat on the back of equally elegant gentleman, who was positioned on all fours. With her right hand she held him by his hair, while her left palm rested on his buttocks. It kind of looked like she was… spanking him? And he seemed to like it.

Tyrion chuckled at Sansa’s flabbergasted expression. “Come on,” he laughed, “It’s Phyllis and Maester Aristoteles. I’m sure you know the story.”

Sansa looked at him, surprised. “I _do_ know the story,” she realised, “Aegon the Conqueror had an affair with a lowborn girl called Phyllis, and Maester Aristoteles criticised him for it… but he was attracted to Phyllis himself. The girl humiliated the old maester by making him serve as her horse: she put reigns on him and rode him using a whip. I always thought it was rather a funny story…”

“Funny is one way to put it.” Tyrion winked, “but many illustrations of this story focus on, um, sexual aspect of this situation.”

Sansa looked at the vessel. “It looks… disturbing.” She whispered. “He looks like he enjoys being… touched like that.”

“Any adult play is only the matter of preferences and mutual consent. Many men like dominating women.” Tyrion supplied, softly. Sansa looked at him confused - but his gaze was so warm and kind now.

“But surely not… spanking.” She whispered. Wicked impish gin that appeared on Tyrion’s face confused her even further. She cleared her throat.

“That is just a very naughty vessel.” She summed up, uncomfortable.

Tyrion chortled, “I like it. It’s a high quality example of applied arts.”

“Sure,” Sansa snorted, “a fine metalwork. One should just ignore the fact that it depicts a woman riding a man.”

At this point Tyrion just laughed. “You know,” he said, “riding a man is something I am pretty sure you would much enjoy yourself.”

“What?!” Sansa was most indignant, “You are not suggesting… Tyrion, all the other ridiculous aspects aside, I would just break your spine if I sat on you like that, no offence!”

“None taken.“ Tyrion was impishly grinning again, “But I did not mean _like that_ at all. There is a much different and a much more pleasurable way to ride your husband. Oh, you will love it, I promise you.”

He took her hand and guided her towards the bed. He climbed up, took off his shirt and then breeches. Sansa looked at him questionably - but it was somehow endearing, how he simply got naked in front of her, naturally.

“Would you do me the honour and join me in my nakedness, my Queen, in order to have some serious fun?” He said that in feigned grave tone that made her giggle. She took off her shift and threw it on the floor.

They were both in a rather playful mood at this point. Tyrion grabbed her waist and started sucking on her breasts. She buried her fingers in his curls, arching her back.

They kissed and touched for a while, kneeling on the bed. But when Tyrion stroked her pussy and found it wet, he broke their kiss and moved away. He lay flat on his back, his cockstand poking up. He made a gallant gesture of invitation towards it. “My Queen, I encourage you to take me.”

Sansa looked at him quizzically, so he explained: “Straddle me, my love, and impale yourself.”

“I can’t…!” Sansa got nervous, but Tyrion was an epitome of calmness. “Oh, you very much can. I know how you like riding a horse. I assure you, riding your husband can be… much better.”

There was some kind of challenge in his gaze and suddenly Sansa felt it struck a chord of her ambition. She narrowed her eyes at him. With one swift motion she straddled him. She grabbed his cock, stroked it a few times, made him moan. Then guided him into her damp depths.

The sensation was glorious. Not only the familiar feeling of his manhood filling her deliciously but also a very new sense of control overwhelmed her.So when he groaned “Ride me, my Queen…!” she tentatively started to move her arse, looking at Tyrion moaning under her, his eyes rolling. He grabbed her hips, but otherwise he just lay there, entirely under her command.

And so, after some time of slow experimental moves, she started riding him in earnest. At some point she leaned forward and supported herself on her hands, palms on the mattress on both sides of Tyrion’s head. In that position she mostly exposed her breasts to his view: those gorgeous tits, bouncing right in front of his face, almost made him come. He whimpered a bit, then gasped staring at her, and the sight of his reaction pushed her over the edge. She climaxed hard around him, almost howling, and so Tyrion also finished, with a growl.

—

Tyrion woke up at dawn and realised something was amiss. It took him a few seconds to catch up with his half-asleep brain, but when he did, he acknowledged that Sansa, sleeping naked by his side, was covered with sweat. She was also stirring, wincing and whimpering in her sleep. He deduced she must have been having some nightmare; so gently (but firmly) he squeezed her arms and said with voice as calm as he could muster: “wake up, love, wake up. I’m here, it’s all right, it’s Tyrion. Relax, honey, everything is fine.”

Sansa opened her eyes and looked at him sorrowfully. After a few moments of apprehension, tears ran down her cheeks.

“Tyrion…? Tyrion, thank the Gods,” she whispered. Then she nestled herself in his arms, and he rubbed her back soothingly. “I had a terrible dream,” she confessed, “ah…I kind of hoped my nightmares were over.”

“We all have bad dreams every now and then,” Tyrion murmured into her hair, “do you want to tell me about this one?”

Sansa sighed.

“It was a dream of Joffrey and King’s Landing. I never thought I may have one of those again.”

Tyrion was surprised; he rather expected something related to Bolton bastard, or the Long Night and battle with the dead.

“Joffrey is long gone, sweetheart.” He kissed her brow, “And King’s Landing is a different place now, ruled by your own brother. What was your dream about?”

Sansa cuddled to him even closer. “I had a dream about a certain situation that actually took place… Joffrey took me to the city walls one day and made me look at my father’s head on a spike.”

Tyrion tensed. “Fucking arsehole,” he muttered.

“But in my dream…” Sansa’s voice went small, “there was your head on a spike, next to my father’s.” She let out a quiet sob.

Tyrion immediately held her tight. “No, no, honey, don’t worry. I am really hard to kill, you know?” He pressed delicate kisses on her head.

“I know… and I know that most of our enemies are dead now… but it is just my old fear, the one that grew in me since my father died, and then all the others: that I would loose everyone I love. As if my love for someone were a sentence. I must admit it, Tyrion: I really am scared that now, when I realised I love you, something bad would happen to you because of that.”

Tyrion tenderly stroked her hair. “I understand it, darling, because I very much think that myself: that I am a curse, that whoever comes near me would end up dead. But in the end, Sansa, we have to somehow… overcome that fear.”

“I know…” she whispered. And then suddenly added, smirking, “You know, I almost killed Joffrey over there.”

“What?!” Tyrion looked at her, incredulous, and she chuckled. “He pushed my buttons. Made me look at my father’s head, and my septa’s was on the other spike. He told me he would bring me Robb’s head as well. And then I dared to reply that maybe Robb would give me his.”

Tyrion sucked in a sharp breath. He realised, knowing his late nephew, that Sansa put herself at this point in a serious danger.

“Joffrey told Ser Meryn to strike me then; he hit me twice, cut my lip. I got so angry… I realised that Joffrey stood on a narrow wooden bridge by the walls. All I had to do was push him. And at this point, I swear, Tyrion, I was ready to do that.”

“Why didn’t you?” Tyrion asked with a small voice.

“The Hound saw my move and stopped me. Back then I thought he did that to protect Joffrey, but now I think he saved me. If I pushed Joffrey to his death witnessed by Ser Meryn, my head would soon end up on another spike.”

Tyrion felt a bead of sweat running down his spine. It was terrifying to learn that Sansa almost got herself executed… on the other hand, he admired her restrain. He realised that if he knew all those details about how Joffrey acted towards her earlier, he would not have been _that_ sure that it wasn’t her who poisoned his fucking nephew.

But his attention was suddenly attracted by Sansa’s another wince. She was clearly uncomfortable.

“What is it, love?” He asked. She grabbed her belly and groaned. Then suddenly sat up, pulled away furs, looked under the sheets, between her legs.

Tyrion’s heart almost stopped when he realised that Sansa was sitting… in a pool of blood.

“Seven hells!” He gasped, “Don’t move, I’m going to get the Maester!”

But Sansa grabbed his wrist. “Calm down, Tyrion, there’s no need.”

“What are you saying? You’r bleeding, it is a hemorrhage. Oh, Gods, did I hurt you earlier? Fucked you too hard?”

“Tyrion calm down!” Sansa would laugh at him, but she was touched by his sincere misery, “It is all right, it is just my moonblood.”

She blushed a little and avoided his gaze. It was embarrassing to talk about _that_ to a man.

Tyrion was not embarrassed at all. He was relieved… and surprised.

“But… but that is so much blood,” he muttered, “are you telling me that you will bleed that much for - what: two days?”

“Try four,” she smirked and his eyes widened.

“Sansa, it’s impossible. Four days? You would bleed out to death.”

“No,” she ensured him, “it’s not that much _all the time_. Don’t worry, darling.” And then added, quietly, “I’m sorry you had to see this.”

Tyrion chuckled, finally relaxed, “Sweetheart, it’s all right. I’m not a maiden fainting at the sight of blood, it does not bother me as long as I am sure that you are not wounded or dying.” He pressed reassuring kiss on her temple.

“Maidens don’t really faint at the sight of blood, you know,” Sansa giggled, reassured by his kindness and not ashamed anymore, “They see quite a lot every month, _especially_ maidens, as they don’t get pregnant.”

And then she sighed, sadly.

“What is it, love?” Tyrion asked softly.

“Are you…. Disappointed?”

“No.” He replied firmly, knowing very well what she meant.

“Me neither,” Sansa whispered, “I mean, well, perhaps a bit - I am hoping to have your child one day, and well, I am obviously not with child now…”

“Honey, sometimes it takes time for seed to take a root.” Tyrion murmured.

“I know.” She pressed a tender kiss on his cheek, “and I don’t care. Please know that I am very happy with you, whatever happens.”

“Thank you.” He sighed. On one hand he very much wanted her to get pregnant (because he wanted to give her the heir she needed, he wanted to give her the babe she craved for, but also - selfishly - he just wanted fatherhood for himself) and on the other hand he was somehow relieved that it did not happen yet, and so she was not in danger of dying in childbirth anytime soon. He made a huge effort to avoid thinking about that.

“What can I do for you now, love?” He asked to change the subject.

“I need a bath and a change of sheets,” she replied shyly, “but otherwise I am fine, thank you. She smiled at him and he kissed her knuckles.

—

In the evening Sansa stormed into their chambers, visibly irritated. “I hate this day. Maester Wolkan is so slow sometimes…” she began, but seeing Tyrion’s quizzical gaze, she just waved her hand dismissively. “Ah, never mind. I don’t want to talk about that."

“Relax, my dear wife.” Tyrion guided her towards a settee, “how about I rub your feet and you tell me all about this terrible day?”

“There’s nothing to talk about, really.” Sansa smirked, feeling a bit better when his fingers started working on her sore feet. “It is always like that, every month. I get nightmares, I am tired, and hence frustrated. The cramps do not make it better. It will just pass.” She shrugged. “Better get used to that, or avoid me every moonturn.”

“Do you want me to avoid you?” Tyrion asked calmly, looking at her feet in his hands. “Would that be more comfortable for you if I made myself scarce?”

“What? No!” Sansa shook her head, “On the contrary, I very much enjoy your presence, it is much less fun to be grumpy and whiny when there is no-one to complain to.”

At that Tyrion chuckled. “In that case, I’d be honoured to keep you company in your grumpiness.” He winked. “And I suppose my panic this morning was quite amusing to you, so it seems that I can even provide entertainment.”

Sansa smiled a little and made herself more comfortable on a settee. “I would not make fun of your concern, Tyrion,” she said gently, “Although for a man so experienced with women, and married twice in the past, you know surprisingly little on that regard.”

Tyrion snorted, “That’s because my first marriage lasted for a fortnight, and my second was a sham. You don’t suppose that whores service their clients on those days, do you?” He shrugged. “I pretty much know nothing about that. Well, I remember how when I was a child Jaime would avoid Cersei once in a while, saying that she has her ‘mean days'. I didn’t see the difference, she was equally mean to me all the time.” Tyrion pulled a face and Sansa couldn’t help laughing.

“I don’t know if it makes you feel better, but I panicked myself when I bleed for the first time… although for different reasons. Shae tried to help me conceal it, but, well… the Hound came and gave me away.” Sansa remembered.

“What are you talking about?” Tyrion was confused, so Sansa realised she should explain it once she mentioned that affair.

“Well, it was right after the riots in King’s Landing. At night I had a dream of being raped and stabbed, and I woke up in a pool of blood, pretty much like today. It was much more blood than I expected - but I realised what that was. The trouble was that by that time I really hated Joffrey and the thought of marrying him repulsed me… I thought I was safe as long as I did not bleed, but once it was official - that I can have Joffrey’s children - I would be forced to marry him. I did not think straight, I just grabbed a knife and I tried to cut the stain off the mattress. When Shae came in and realised what happened, she tried to help me: she proposed we flipped the mattress. And then as another maid came in, Shae ran after her to prevent her from telling… but meanwhile Sandor Clegane came in and I was found out. I had to admit it to Cersei - I told her I panicked because it was much more blood than I expected, and she told me that childbirth would be much more messy. That was also the day when she told me that the more people I loved the weaker I was.”

Tyrion did not say anything to that.

After a moment of silence, Sansa continued, “And later… during the Battle of the Blackwater, when I still bled, she told me I was lucky, because it was less likely that I’d end up with a bastard in my belly when the city falls and women are raped.” Sansa shrugged while Tyrion gritted his teeth.

“Ah, my beloved sister. What a comforting thing to say in such circumstances..”

For a moment he just massaged Sansa’s feet in silence. Eventually, he murmured, “That was just a hard night, it seems. You bled as a woman for the first time, while I lied in mud, also bleeding in my first battle, because I really can’t count the Green Fork battle as a fight of mine.”

“It is commonly assumed that a girl turns into a woman when she has her first moonblood, but I also heard that a boy becomes a man when he wields a sword for the first time and bleeds in a fight.” Sansa murmured.

“I did not have a sword, I had an axe. But are you proposing a very romantic idea here: that we both metaphorically entered adulthood back then, somehow together? As if we were perfect for each other?” He smirked and all together tried to sound cynic, but did not succeed entirely.

Sansa narrowed her eyes on him. “That sounds terribly romantic, or even melodramatic. I would love such an idea, once; alas, I am afraid, my lord, that I am not that naive girl anymore.”

“Yes, and I am not that sensitive boy either.” Tyrion twisted his lips.

 _Yes, you still are,_ Sansa thought, fondly. She sat up and reached for his arm. Pulled him closer, pressed a kiss on his cheek.

Tyrion only smiled.

—

In the middle of the night Tyrion woke up because Sansa stirred a lot. She was changing her position, sighing, clearly uncomfortable, and clearly awake.

“What is it, dear?” He murmured.

“I am sorry, go back to sleep.” Her voice sounded tired, “I have some pain in my back and in my belly. It keeps me awake.”

“Can I get you something?” He suggested. He would not sleep when she was so restless, anyway.

“No, thank you….” Sansa sighed, “I had my herbal tea before, there’s not much else I can do. Ahhhh, it just… hurts.”

Tyrion placed his palm on her belly. “Here?” He asked gently.

“Yes,” she whispered; and then: “please keep your palm here. The warmth makes it… better.”

“How about now?” He asked after a moment, gently rubbing circles on her abdomen.

“Yyyyeeess… the cramp seems to… subdue…”

Tyrion did not think much of that, but acted rather out of instinct. If she had cramps, he wanted to make her relax. With one palm he was gently circling her belly, but with the other he moved down: rubbing her mound, and lower…

“How does this feel?” He murmured.

“Good.” Sansa’s voice was a bit surprised. She spread her legs a little. She had some kind of rug in her smallclothes, so he just slipped his fingers under it.

It didn’t really take long - he just focused on massaging top of her sex. She eventually peaked - not very hard, but with a sigh of relief. And then she whispered, astonished: “The cramps are gone… thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” He withdrew his hand and wiped it in the darkness into a pillow. “Can we go back to sleep now?”

Sansa was very much embarrassed when in the morning she discovered bloody stains on one of the pillows. But she was also very grateful and content; it seemed there was a very good remedy for her monthly cramps at hand… at her husband’s hand, apparently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pssst… *it really works.* 😉


	22. Dark Clouds in the Blissful Sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few chapters ago (in 9, I think) in the comments exchanged with @thistleandthorn I have said that I believe that as all the Stark children grew up being loved, I think they developed at least some of healthy sense of self-worth, which does not apply to Tyrion. So I think that in the end Sansa would not be as emotionally damaged as Tyrion (whatever she went through) - in my mind she is much more ready to truly love someone, and so if there occurs a problem in their marriage, it would be rooted mostly in Tyrion’s insecurities.
> 
> So here it goes. Every relationship - even the best one - has to face shitty crisis from time to time.

Cersei used to tell Tyrion that he was _a monster_. Tywin used to say that he was _a beast_. Tyrion refused to accept that, but in some moments of despair he had a thought that only once he dared to shout out-loud: “I wish I was the monster you think I am!“

Tyrion was no monster, no beast, but the truth was that he _had_ a monster inside him. A monster of fear and self-pity; a beast whispering to his mind that he did not deserve to be happy. Something that could turn him into enemy of himself, that would lead him to sabotage his own well-being.

Usually he managed to keep that monster at bay; but it was easier when Tyrion was miserable or struggling to survive, because his survival instinct was pretty well-developed, winning with anything else. But now, for the first time in his life really, he was actually _happy_ : he felt safe and secure, and on some level it scared the shit out of him. So when the opportunity to undermine that happiness presented itself, the monster in Tyrion’s brain seized it.

Lord Tyrion was sitting in a wide armchair by the hearth in the solar, reading a book - he turned the chair to face the fire and due to his stature he was entirely hidden by the chair’s back. When Sansa suddenly came in, she did not see him.

She was accompanied by Podric; they both walked quickly towards her desk, she took something from her drawer. And then they had a conversation that broke Tyrion’s heart.

“Here it is, Ser Podrick. This is the address. Will you manage in four days?”

“Yes, Your Grace, I believe so. I gather Lord Tyrion will be occupied enough by then and won’t find out…”

“I’ll make sure he will be. I only hope he does not suspect anything now.”

“He’s not, I can assure you. And I promise I will keep our secret.”

Sansa chuckled and then they both left the solar.

Tyrion sat in his chair, frozen. Tight knot formed in his stomach. He tried to convince himself that he misheard: that his wife did _not_ just make an appointment with his former squire, urging him to keep it secret from her husband. But once the thought popped into his head, he could not get rid of it.

_She’s cheating on you, Imp. She enjoys the magic cock of Ser Podrick Payne: a proper knight of normal human stature._

Overwhelmed by anxiety, Tyrion acted according to his familiar pattern. Instead of confronting his fears, he escaped: found himself two bottles of wine and a room to drown his sorrows. It wasn’t easy, as he wanted to avoid everyone’s attention: Sansa’s, Brienne’s, maester Wolkan’s, all the servants’, and especially Podrick’s. He did not want to see that fucker ever again.

He thought it could be nice to share his pain and wine with Bronn - but the Lord of the Twins was already gone (staying away from his pregnant ladies was not worth bearing the harsh climate of the North, he decided after just one week). Anyway, Tyrion mused, guest chambers that used to be Bronn’s accommodation were a very good place to hide and drink himself into stupor.

Draining his first bottle, Tyrion argued with himself. Sansa would not betray his trust, she would not cheat on him. Why would she? They were so happy together, and he kept her satisfied.

_Although_ , the monster inside him whispered, _a few past days were not so perfect._

Indeed, she was stressed and tired, and so they did not fuck. But that was because they had some very particular problems to solve, related to a sudden disease among local cattle. And there were complains of farmers, and a shortage on the meat market; they discussed it together, he knew she had every right to be frustrated, and not in a mood for lovemaking. They cuddled during the nights anyway, so they were not really estranged.

_But perhaps fatigue was just an excuse_ , the monster murmured again, _from now on all you would get is cuddling, sad Imp, because she does not need your cock anymore_.

_Because she has Pod’s magic dick. The only one known in the world that made the whores give away coins._

_Also, so far you failed to get her pregnant. Maybe she’s looking for a better seed._

The second bottle put Tyrion into angry and bitter mood.

_It is always like this. No-one could ever truly love an imp. A misshapen caricature of a human being._

Gods made whores for creatures like him; what did he expect: that he could have had a beautiful lady? Young and gorgeous? The Queen?

What kind of idiot trusts a woman anyway? They all act the same, queens and whores. Drive men to distraction and use them. Cersei, Daenerys, Ellaria, Olenna… didn’t they all push various men to their death? How were they better from Tysha, Ros or Shae?

Ah, but he would not let Sansa just screw him over like this. She was his wife, she was _his_. He could have this bastard Payne killed. He would destroy their sinful happiness, Podrick would never have her. Or, at least… never again.

After some time Tyrion opened a third bottle.

(How did he get the third bottle? He wouldn’t remember… but the point was, it was here.)

_Perhaps Sansa just made a mistake? Perhaps she has been seduced? Perhaps… she fell in love?_

He didn’t want to ruin her life, not really…. Maybe he should just let her go?

Suddenly, Tyrion’s anger transformed into self-pity. Why something like that had to happen to him? What did he do wrong, again? Why would his heart be broken and trampled _every fucking time_?

How in the name of all the fucking Gods could Sansa do this to him?

_He loved her so much._

This…..just… hurt…. as… fuck….

Drinking compulsively and on an empty stomach struck Tyrion rather suddenly. By the end of the third bottle, he passed out.

—

At first Sansa was just surprised that Tyrion did not show up in their chambers in the evening. Perhaps he was busy.

Then she started to worry; it was really late. Perhaps he dozed off somewhere in the library?

She went there to look for him. She checked little Jaime’s nursery, asked Podrick, even went down to the kitchens. He wasn’t there.

It was way past midnight when she came back to their chambers and found them empty. What in the name of Seven happened to him? Anxious, she looked at the courtyard out of her window… and then she saw him.

It was unmistakably Tyrion. He looked drunk: he was stumbling. Carrying a big bottle of wine, probably… on his way from the kitchens to the guest quarters.

At some point he stopped, trying not to collapse. He looked up and most likely saw her in the window.

He made a mocking gesture of bowing, waved his bottle… and went away.

Sansa had no idea whatever came over him. She was relieved to see that he was fine - well, more or less. But after her fear passed, she felt angry. Why would he do that, why would he get so drunk and avoid her?

Past few days were difficult otherwise, but she thought they managed to get through all the problems together. Unfortunately, fatigue only enhanced her current anxiety.

_And what if he didn’t drink alone? What if he had company?_

_Another woman, perhaps…?_

Sansa cried for most of the rest of that night.

—

Brienne wasn’t very much concerned when neither Sansa nor Tyrion appeared at breakfast. But when the lord did not show up at the midday meal, and the Queen came on her own, looking pale and disturbed, Brienne understood that something was amiss.

It wasn’t until the afternoon when she managed to catch Sansa alone. She knew something weird happened, as a few moments earlier she spoke to Pod, who was utterly confused. Apparently lord Tyrion came to Pod’s chambers that day, acting unusually distant and cold, and ordered Podrick to pack his belongings and to leave Winterfell for Casterly Rock on the same day. He instructed young knight that he is not allowed to see the Queen anymore, and that he should go straight to the Westerlands, were further orders would be given to him by Addam Marbrand.

“My Queen,” the lady knight said softly, “would you like to tell me what happened?”

Sansa looked up at the elder woman. At first she wanted to say _nothing happened,_ but then she realised she could use a friend now. She pursed her lips not to let out a sob, and swallowed lump in her throat. “Tyrion stayed away from me this night, drinking. He avoided me all day as well. I have no idea what happened…” at this point Sansa couldn’t help herself and started crying. Brienne just moved closer and pulled her into a hug.

“Do you want me to go get him?” Brienne asked, calmly. “He should talk to you, I can make him.”

“I bet you can.” Sansa snorted through her tears.

“You can order him to come and explain.” Brienne whispered, “you are his queen.”

“I don’t want to act as a queen now.” Sansa replied with a small voice, “This is not a matter of the kingdom, it is some unexpected problem in our private relationship. I do not wish to be the queen in our marriage. I want to be… his partner. I need him to talk to me because he wants to, not because I ordered it.”

“I see.” Brienne nodded, “but I will get him anyway. Go to your bedchambers.” The lady knight dared to press a soft kiss to the top of her Queen’s head.

It took Brienne about half an hour to find Lord Tyrion in one of the corners of the keep: he looked pale and tired, but rather suffering from hangover than drunk at this point. Luckily during her search she managed to calm herself down a bit, so Tyrion did not receive a punch in the face when she spotted him, after all.

“My lord, you owe the Queen some explanations, I think.” She only said, irritated.

“Do I?” Tyrion’s voice was bitter. “Does she order me to come?”

“I told her she should, but she refused to give you orders in this situation,” Brienne replied calmly, “She wants to talk to you as a wife to a husband, not as a queen to a subject.”

Tyrion raised his brow sarcastically, so Brienne added, “she looks like she cried all night.”

Tyrion’s throat tightened at this thought, but the monster in his head whispered: _maybe she cried because she figured that you’ve found out about her and Pod, and she’s afraid to loose her lover now._

(But Tyrion was not drunk anymore, and he started to realise that his mind may have been playing tricks on him. That’s why he decided for a start that sending Podrick away was perhaps a better idea than having him assassinated.)

Anyway, the situation required explanations. He abhorred this confrontation, though - either way, it would be awful. If his accusations turned out to be false, he would hate himself. If they proved right… he would hate her, which was much worse.

(He kind of hated himself already).

“All right.” He said and followed Brienne to meet his wife.

—

When Tyrion entered the bedchamber, Brienne went out and closed the door. Sansa was sitting by the fire. She looked terrible: tired, miserable, her red-rimmed eyes full of sorrow. She looked at Tyrion and bit her lip, trying not to cry.

“What the hell happened?” She finally asked. Tyrion shrugged.

A spark of anger lit up her gaze. “All right, let me rephrase it. Where have you been all night?”

“Drinking.” He replied calmly.

“Alone?” Sansa’s voice was now full of frustration, “or with some whore?”

“Pardon me?” Tyrion was most indignant, “of all the people, _you_ dare to accuse me of cheating on you?”

“What was that supposed to mean?” Sansa did not see that coming.

“You know very well, _my dear wife_.” Tyrion spat, “but I’ll tell you this: your lover is gone. I’ve sent him to Casterly Rock, he departs later today.”

“Tyrion, what the fuck!?” Sansa was so surprised, she almost forgot her anger, “whom are you talking about?”

“Don’t play innocent, not with me.” Tyrion was obviously frustrated, “I heard the conversation you had with Pod in the solar. I was sitting by the hearth, but neither of you saw me.”

Sansa took a minute to comprehend his words, but finally she understood what he referred to. She stood up, approached the door and opened it. Ser Brienne was waiting in the corridor.

“Could you please tell ser Podrick that Lord Tyrion and myself expect him in our chambers right now?”

When Pod entered their room a few minutes later, he looked very much confused. “My lord is sending me away, your grace.” He said.

“Is he, really?” Sansa raised her eyebrow. “Well, Ser Podrick, the thing is that apparently lord Tyrion overheard our conversation in the solar and misunderstood it. Would you please explain to him what it was about?”

“But, my queen…” Podrick seemed uncomfortable, “it would spoil everything…”

“No, it won’t spoil a surprise, because there no longer will be one. I decided to call it off, I changed my mind - I suddenly don’t feel like he deserves it. So please, tell lord Tyrion what I planned.”

Podrick looked at Tyrion. “Her Grace planned a surprise for your upcoming nameday. She wanted to invite to Winterfell Maester Reuel, the author of your favourite books on dragons. I was supposed to arrange his arrival and stay.”

Tyrion’s eyes went wide. Podrick noticed his astonishment; then looked back at Sansa and saw her anger. He finally got the hint of idea why lord Tyrion was so rude to him earlier and desperate to send him away.

“My lord,” the young knight asked cautiously, as his own anger welled up inside him, “what did you think I talked about to the Queen?”

Tyrion lowered his head in defeat. “The conversation I overheard suggested… that you had a secret understanding with my wife, behind my back.”

“My lord?!” Podrick was now obviously frustrated and… offended. He swallowed dry and eventually just spat: “I can’t believe you would offend me like this my lord… I would never…. Ah, for fuck’s sake!” And then he turned towards Sansa, “Your Grace, I apologise, but may I please go now? Because, no offence, I don’t feel like talking to Lord Hand right now.”

Sansa nodded and Podrick just stormed out. Tyrion hid his face in his palms.

_Oh, how he fucked up._

At this point his brain was just as if about to explode. He made such an idiot of himself… and he made Sansa cry. Because his sick mind created an idiotic scenario of Sansa fucking Podrick Payne. While she just tried to arrange a nameday surprise for him.

“Tyrion,” Sansa’s voice was tired, “I suggest you go after Pod right now. Apologise to him, you owe him that.”

“I have to talk to you first,” Tyrion raised his gaze. But she shook her head, “No, we need more time, go and straighten things up with him first before he really leaves Winterfell. Then come back to me and we’ll talk.”

Tyrion knew he was not in a position to argue. On one hand he very much wanted to talk everything through with her right now, but on the other hand he dreaded this conversation. He was so ashamed about how he behaved.

(However underneath his shame there was a relief - joy, even - that he was wrong. It was almost… consuming).

—

Tyrion went to Pod’s room and knocked the door. Entered when bid come in; but Podrick seemed disgusted when he saw it was him. „Oh,” the young knight mumbled, “I did not expect to see you, my lord, or I would not invite you in.”

„Understandable.” Tyrion sighed, and then realised that Pod was actually packing. „Oh, but you don’t think my order for you to go to Casterly Rock still stands, do you? Because, of course...”

„Unbelievable.” Podrick cut him off with surprisingly calm voice, „How you, my lord, see nothing beyond your own nose.” 

Tyrion was astonished by his former squire’s impertinence, or rather impressed by it. 

„I don’t care about your orders anymore.” Pod explained, “I have written my resignation and I’ll give it to Ser Brienne to pass it to you and the Queen. I am packing because I decided to leave the North. It is a big kingdom, but somehow seems too small for both of us.”

It felt like slap in a face, but Tyrion thought he deserved it. He approached ser Podrick humbly. 

„You have every right to be mad at me, and I can’t stop you from going away. But I have to tell you this: I am so, so sorry. I behaved like an utter moron.”

„You thought that I had an affair with _your wife_!” Podrick spat in accusatory tone. 

„I know!” Tyrion was truly sorry, „I was an idiot, I let my petty insecurities take over my brain. But I know that Sansa would never do that to me...”

„I don’t fucking care about what the Queen would do!” Podrick got angry again. It was so unlike him, Tyrion just didn’t know how to react. 

„The relation between you and the Queen is not my concern.” Podrick calmed himself down and went back to his usual polite tone. „What hurt me, my lord, is the fact that you have even considered that _I_ would ever do this to you. That I would be such an arse to fuck my lord’s wife!? Well, I would never!”

Tyrion dropped his head. „I once told you there has never lived a more loyal squire. That still stands. It just turned out that, well - you had bad luck to come across a lord most unworthy of your service.” He looked up at the young knight.

Pod stared Tyrion in the eyes, and saw such a miserable expression that his anger melted away. 

„I am _so sorry_ , Podrick.” Tyrion’s voice was small, “You are right, I am terribly selfish. And no matter what I thought of Sansa, I should have never doubted your loyalty and honour. I apologise from the bottom of my heart, but I won’t be surprised if you don’t find this offence possible to forgive.” 

Podrick sighed. Looked at Tyrion for another moment and eventually reached out his hand. Tyrion took it and squeezed in gratitude. „Don’t insult me like that again, my lord.” Pod muttered. 

„Never.” Tyrion promised, „And thank you so much.”

Podrick let his hand go and a hint of a smile appeared on his lips. Then looked around and chuckled. „I guess I might start unpacking, right?”

Tyrion sighed in relief. „I’d love to help you, but I am afraid I have to go back to my lady wife, who expressed an intention to talk to me. The conversation I’m not actually excited about.” 

„I bet!” Podrick smirked. And then added, cautiously, „if you needed, afterwards, to have some drink in company... I am a bit better drinker now then I used to be in King’s Landing those years ago.”

Tyrion’s throat tighten. Not only Pod forgave him, but also now offered friendly support and companionship in case Tyrion got much deserved kick-out from his marital bedchamber tonight. 

„I don’t deserve such a good friend,” Tyrion whispered.

„True,” Pod chuckled, „yet you have one, my lord.”

— 

On his way back to Sansa, Tyrion bumped into Brienne. The lady knight threw him almost a killing look.

„I know,” Tyrion raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. „Don’t murder me just yet.”

„No worries. I am leaving this pleasure to the Queen.” There was no hint of jape in her tone, so he just swallowed lump in his throat and moved on.

—

When he entered their chambers, he found Sansa sitting by the hearth, already in her nightclothes and a dressing gown. On a small table there was a plate with some bread and cheese, jug of ale and two cups. She didn’t pour though, didn’t offer him any. He stood in front of her, nervous. But she looked more sad and tired than angry. 

„I am sorry.” He started. She looked at him, gaze full of sorrow. 

„I am an idiot. As usual, I am a pityfull excuse of...”

„No, Tyrion.” Sansa interrupted, „it is not for you to feel sorry for yourself now.” 

„I just wanted to say,” he tried again, „that I _apologise_. I shouldn’t have even thought that you could cheat on me; no matter what I heard, I should have trusted you.”

“Yes, you should have trusted me, and it pains me that you didn’t. But however it hurts, I don’t hold it against you. I couldn’t. It would be unfair.”

“What… what do you mean?” Tyrion asked weakly. 

She looked at him, brow frowned. Then she poured ale to two cups.

“Sit with me, please.” She gestured towards a second chair. “Have you eaten something today? Because I didn’t.”

“Thank you.” Tyrion moved towards the chair, “Um, yes, I remember you don’t eat when you are in distress. I forced myself to eat some bread with butter earlier to wake up my stomach, because, well, I had a bit of hangover.”

They both nipped on bread and cheese, but just a little. Neither of them was really ready to eat. They slowly sipped their ale.

“So… what did you mean?” Tyrion resumed their conversation.

“I meant that… even though you should have trusted me, and in fact it is quite an offence that you even _considered_ that I could be unfaithful to you…” Sansa sighed, “I can’t be really mad, because I kind of did the same.”

“What do you mean?” Tyrion was surprised.

“What, you didn’t notice? I asked you if you spent the night with some whore!” Sansa was visibly frustrated, “Tyrion, I spent most of last night crying. At first when you didn’t come I was worried, I went out looking for you all around the castle. But then I saw you through the window - you were drunk, with another bottle of wine, clearly going somewhere… and you never came back to our chambers. So I deduced that you’ve spent the night somewhere else… with someone else.”

“Oh, Gods, Sansa, no!” Tyrion just wanted to kick himself at this point, “I just drank alone, in guest chambers that used to be Bronn’s. I have been drowning my sorrow consumed by jealousy, that’s all.”

Sansa looked at him sorrowfully, “It seems we are both jealous, and apparently insecure. I am not saying it is all right - and so I apologise for suspecting you, Tyrion.”

“Don’t.” Tyrion whispered, “it is not for you to apologise.”

“It is, for not trusting you. But that does not change the fact that I am angry with you, Tyrion. It is not because of your jealousy, though. As I told you: we both have issues, apparently, and we should probably work on them, but let’s just say that the fact that we get jealous is a proof that we care for each other, it is related to being in love. Most likely it is the outcome of our own insecurities, but again - that is not why I am angry, not really.”

Tyrion looked at her, thoughtful. _How could she be so wise?_ But then… “so, why are you angry?”

“Because you did not talk to me, Tyrion.” Sansa replied, and tears once again filled her eyes, “You just left me alone, in the darkness of the night, with no explanation. No accusation, even - I just felt so… abandoned! I didn’t know what happened, and you were just gone. Can you imagine that, Tyrion? That one day I leave you and I don’t tell you why?”

Tyrion’s stomach knotted at the prospect. He realised he was so consumed by his own anxiety, he never thought about how she would feel if he just disappeared. And the idea that it could be the other way around - that one evening he would find out she’s gone for no particular reason - just paralysed him.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

“Look at me, Tyrion.” Sansa said firmly, and he obeyed. He had tears in his eyes now.

“I am not telling you to never be jealous again.” She stressed, “I assume that if I overheard you talking to some woman about something that should be kept secret from me, I would get suspicious as well. But I want you to promise me that next time you will confront me. Yell at me, ask me ‘what the fuck?,’ demand explanation. Just please never disappear like that, ever again.”

“Yes, Sansa, I promise!” Tyrion only now realised what he really done wrong, “I am so sorry and I promise, I will always, always talk to you, no matter how crazy anxious I get.”

“Thank you.” She said, quietly, “And try not to drown your sorrows in wine anymore. It is one thing to enjoy some good wine, but when you drink in misery, you tend to loose control. And also, in those circumstances I can’t rely on you… you can’t see that I need you then, you never did.”

Tyrion nodded, but then when her words sunk in, he narrowed his eyes on her. “When did I ever get drunk when you needed me before?”

Sansa replied with a small voice, after a moment of silence, “On our wedding evening. During our wedding feast. You focused only on your cups, you actually wiped spilled wine with a tablecloth. You acted like a common drunkard. And I knew you would not be able to protect me.”

“Protect you from what? I thought I was your main threat that night… but in the end I did protect you, you did not have to force yourself to spread your legs for the imp.” A bit too late Tyrion realised that it was not a good moment to be sarcastic, “Apologies, my lady,” he murmured.

“Tyrion, you were certainly not the main threat that night.” Sansa got nervous again, “see, you were too drunk to notice… but Joffrey approached me during our wedding feast. He told me he would come to our chambers when you pass out, and rape me. You have no idea how scared I was after you fell asleep on that settee.”

Tyrion’s eyes widened. “I never knew that,” he whispered. And then, after a moment of consideration, “Thank you, Sansa, for telling me this. It never occurred to me that my drinking may bother you beyond feeling disgusted or embarrassed by my behaviour. And on that account, I would like to stress that I hid very well this time, not only from you, but also from everybody else. I made sure no-one would see your Lord Hand, your consort and the Lord of Winterfell in a sorry state.” He tried to force a smile, tried to make it a jape, but it didn’t work. Sansa looked at him with a somber gaze.

His chest felt so heavy. Finally, he asked with a small voice, “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

Sansa shook her head. “I don’t think so, no. I believe we have explained this misunderstanding, and I see you are sorry for how you behaved. And I meant what I said to Pod, earlier: you are not getting the surprise for your nameday. But all together, I won’t lie to you, Tyrion, I need more time to truly accept your apologies. I suppose now we just have to move on, but I can’t just yet act as if nothing happened. I still feel hurt, and I don’t think there is anything you can do about that now.”

Tyrion nodded, “If there were, please let me know. And of course, I absolutely understand your feelings. I hate myself right now, even though I apologised to you and I don’t really know what else I may do now; I suppose we both need time to get over this mess.”

Sansa sadly nipped some more bread and finished her cup of ale. Then she stood up.

“I know that it is an early evening, but I barely slept last night, so will you excuse me? I think I may just go to bed already.”

“Of course,” Tyrion stood up from his chair. He also felt very tired. “I think I need some sleep as well.”

Sansa moved towards bed, took off her dressing gown and slipped under the furs. Then she looked at Tyrion, questionably, as he still stood by his chair. He looked tense, as if he wanted to say something, but was afraid.

“What is it, Tyrion?” She asked with a fatigued voice.

“Well, I am sorry, but… I am not sure where you would prefer me to sleep tonight.”

“What?” Sansa was truly confused, “what do you mean: where?”

“Well, I thought… I don’t know if you prefer I just went to one of the guest chambers, or would you rather I stayed and slept on a settee here.”

“What in Seven Hells are you talking about?” Her anger again welled up, “I prefer for my husband to sleep in bed by my side.”

“I….I don’t think I deserve that.” Tyrion murmured.

Sansa sat up in bed, furious. “ _You_? You don’t deserve? And what about me? What do I deserve? Do I deserve another night of loneliness, do I deserve to be left cold and abandoned, again?”

Tyrion rushed towards her, “No, of course not, Sansa.”

She lay back down. “Then stop fussing and come here.”

Tyrion decided not to argue anymore. He undressed to his undershirt (he didn’t use any nightclothes for so long, he didn’t even remember where whey were, but it seemed awkward to get naked when she was in her shift, and most of all - it seemed awkward with all this unresolved tension between them). Then he climbed into bed, lay on his side and blew out last candles.

They just both lay in silence for longest time: Tyrion flat on his back, while Sansa turned her back on him. They did not touch. They were both terribly tired, exhausted even - but none of them could fall asleep.

Finally, Sansa turned around. She tentatively stretched out her arm and placed her palm on his shoulder. It was not a caress, it was not even a very tender gesture, but it was a touch. He dared to turn his head and not moving his body he placed a soft kiss on her fingertips resting on his shoulder. She didn’t withdraw.

Then they just stayed like this: keeping distance between their bodies, but touching at this one spot, her hand on his shoulder. Eventually, they both fell asleep.

—

Sansa woke up a couple hours later, in the middle of the night. It was not very dark - some light from the full moon behind the window seeped into the bedchamber, bathing all the objects in a silver glow.

She still felt exhausted, but mostly it was some kind of emotional fatigue. Rationally she understood that everything that occured during past 24 hours was in fact a product of an awful misunderstanding. Tyrion did not mean to hurt her, he felt hurt himself; and all together their mutual jealousy just poisoned their blood. Also, nothing bad actually happened.

Sansa was aware that no marriage can avoid crisis from time to time, and most likely those bad feelings would just subdue in time. But she was frustrated now: there was nothing more to be said, the whole misunderstanding has been explained, he apologised, and yet somehow she couldn’t just let go. As if there were some kind of closure missing. 

Also, she felt irritated by another aspect of this situation: they hadn’t made love for a few days now, and she felt somehow needy in that regard, but the whole conundrum put her off. She could not imagine making love when there was that weird tension between them; all together it only added to her frustration.

Tyrion did not sleep well either, apparently. She looked at her asleep husband and saw his face twisted with painful expression. He stirred a little; most likely he had some bad dream. Then suddenly he squirmed more, tugging on his own shirt, and murmured, “I am so sorry, please.” Sansa pulled away the furs covering them and saw her husband kicking in his sleep. His fists were clenched on the hem of his shirt, which of course in these circumstances hiked up, revealing his hardened cock. Throbbing, actually.

“Please…” he moaned again, “Sansa, please…”

She looked at him, curiously. He was clearly in a huge distress. And also obviously his unresolved tension was rather significant. Although she was not in a mood to please him, she felt irrational need to stop his cock from this throbbing. She grabbed it, firmly, and stroked just once or twice - not to satisfy him, but only out of instinct, really.

She was surprised to see that he released his seed almost immediately all over his shirt.

Tyrion suddenly woke up and it took him a couple seconds to catch up with his brain. When he realised what happened, he just wanted to curl up and die.

First of all, his frustrated brain provided him with the most embarrassing (yet exciting) dream: it was probably a product of all the overwhelming feelings of shame and remorse, combined with sexual frustration. Whether the latter was related to the fact that they did not fuck recently, or by some other aspects (he was in bed with Sansa, after all, and he loved her so much, and also he has always used sex to suppress his anxieties of any sort), he couldn’t tell. The former, on the other hand, drove him to a peculiar state of being in need of a punishment. All together it summed up to a dream that featured all of that: there was Sansa, he got punished, but it also turned into something so kinky that right now _he_ actually blushed at the thought. And, apparently, his final release went beyond a dream, as right now he found himself half-exposed, spent cock hanging out, and a sticky mess all over the front of his shirt.

And to make things worse, Sansa was awake. Up on her elbow, looking at him quizzically.

“Fuck, fucking fuck.” He muttered, hiding his face in his palms. Then got himself together. First of all, to restore at least _some_ of his dignity, he just took off that wet shirt, wiping himself with it, and discarded it on the floor by the bed.

Then pulled up the furs to cover himself.

Then turned to Sansa, looked her in the eyes.

“I am sorry. And terribly ashamed.” He simply said.

“No need.” Sansa replied casually. Her tone was not harsh, but it wasn’t tender either. “It was my fault, really. You were squirming in distress and I touched your shaft. I shouldn’t have - I was not aware it would push you over the edge immediately.”

Tyrion swallowed dry. At least, apparently, he didn’t spill his seed _untouched_.

There was nothing more to be said at this point, really. Besides, he very much wanted to avoid talking about his dream.

So, they lay side by side, not touching each other for some time. Tyrion felt most uncomfortable, Sansa was staring at him somehow coldly. Also, it was awkward to be naked when she was wearing a shift. Finally, he asked, tentatively: “Are you still mad at me? Not because of this, but because of… earlier things?”.

“I am, “ she confirmed, sadly, “well, maybe not mad, but somehow… irritated.”

“Can I do anything?” He asked softly, again, expecting she would say ‘no’.

But this time she narrowed her eyes on him. “Perhaps.”

“Command, my Queen.” He encouraged and she made her decision. She shifted in bed, lay on her back, made herself comfortable. Spread her legs slightly, moved sheets and furs away. “Lick me.” she said in commanding tone.

Tyrion did not see _that_ coming.

On the other hand, he was of course happy to oblige. With no further comments he lifted up her shift, took off her smallclothes, bent over her cunt and focused on working his miracles with his mouth and his tongue. “Oh, yesss.” Sansa sighted contently, and then commanded again: “Finger!”

Tyrion obediently slicked his finger inside her, started to move it slowly, which made her moan. His cock was already getting hard again, and no doubts that somehow in this peculiar situation it was not only because he touched and tasted her, but also because she was commanding him. She was regal and demanding, and it was perfect at this moment: for some reason Tyrion found himself in a very submissive mood. He was excited and ashamed, he wanted to redeem himself.

Sansa came hard under his ministrations, but she did not seem entirely satisfied. She lay there, panting, but reached for his cock. When she found him hard, she whispered, commanding again: “Now fuck me properly.”

(It was extremely rare for Sansa to use such vulgar words. But he was a naughty imp, and so this phrase - so unexpected in her prim lips - at this very moment made his blood rush straight to his cock.)

She was incredibly wet, so he slid into her easily. She looked at him, and suddenly he found some softness and warmth in her gaze that was missing before. His heart pounded as he felt he really was getting redeemed now.

“Fuck me hard.” She demanded, still commanding, but with a hint of tenderness. So he began to move - it was fast, it was rough, and she was meeting his thrusts. Her shift was now hiked up to her waist, but her breasts were covered; he knew he did not deserve to enjoy their sight, as it was not about him right now. And she was not in a mood for soft caresses. Sansa arched her head back, shut her eyes and just took her pleasure. He looked in awe as she came twice, receiving what she wanted, taking his apologies. It was the sweetest twisted atonement, and Tyrion focused on lasting for her as long as possible, while fucking her really hard.

Finally, she commanded once again: “Come inside me.” He didn’t actually realise that he somehow waited for her to _let_ him finish. He climaxed forcefully and spilled his seed not with a roar, but rather with a soft moan of relief and gratitude. Afterwards he collapsed on top of her, and she enveloped him with her arms and legs; trapped him really. He was softening inside her while she held him possessively, ignoring how sweaty they both were.

After a while she kissed his brow and whispered with an audible smile: “Apologies accepted, my lord.”

Only then Tyrion finally relaxed with a deep sigh. “Thank you, my love.”

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 😳😳😳 (WTF did I just publish?)
> 
> (FYI: Tyrion’s dream is very precisely defined in my mind, but I did not dare to describe it after all. I just... leave it to your imagination. 😶)


	23. A Visit and a Proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy International Women's Day! 💐 ❤️ 🍷🍷🍷
> 
> So, I have asked my hubby (like, right now, while we enjoy quite good Portuguese dry red wine): "do you think I am drunk enough to post another chapter?"
> 
> "Yes." he said, confidently. 😎
> 
> So. There you go.  
> (I'll edit it later, I guess...)

—

It hasn't been long since Sansa and Tyrion were together, but somehow they found a precious sense of peace, and a kind of routine (not it the boring way, but in the sense of feeling comfortable and natural together) which was something they didn't even know they needed so much.

Both during the days as well as during the nights.

Naturally, they enjoyed tender and emotional lovemaking, but sometimes all they needed was a fast and hard fuck, without even undressing properly. Some other times they both felt absolutely contented only exchanging some oral pleasures, and cuddling naked afterwards.

Eventually, they started to sleep naked every night, even on those nights they did not fuck at all, but just held each other to sleep, especially after exhausting day full of duties. At first Sansa was a bit nervous about exposing her scarred back every morning in the daylight; but Tyrion’s back was full of whip marks and he did not worry about it at all, so she decided to give it a try. It turned out that the touch, the closeness, the shared warmth was something so precious and intimate... They just both wanted to wrap around each other every night, with no fabric between them. Sometimes it did lead to unplanned fucking in the middle of the night, though. And sometimes it just provided comfort, giving them deep and regenerating sleep from dusk till dawn. Besides, in the northern climate sleeping fully nude together proved to be very practical - somehow, under heavy furs, their bodies shared heat more effectively when pressed skin to skin.

—

One day a raven from Castle Black arrived - it was a message from Jon. He received Sansa’s invitation and wrote a very short reply: that he would be happy to visit Winterfell soon. Sansa realised that when she invited him, Tyrion was not even her Lord Hand yet.

“Shall we write to him?” Tyrion suggested.

“No need,” Sansa shook her head, “he’s probably already on his way. We should rather make quick arrangements to accommodate the whole delegation. I wonder how many men that would be.”

“Let’s assume… thirty?” Tyrion waved his hand, “If it is twenty, then good for us; if it is forty, we’ll manage to split the supplies.”

—

Tyrion and Sansa stood in the courtyard, surrounded by guards and most prominent members of the household. Brienne next to the Queen, Podrick by Tyrion’s side. The whole welcoming committee looked rather impressive. Then the gate opened, and Jon Snow rode in, accompanied by Tormund on the other horse, and Ghost walking between them. 

Jon looked different: older, as if he aged much more than that year and a half, or something, since Tyrion saw him the last time. But also he somehow looked less... brooding? As if he managed to find some peace.

„That’s it?” Sansa was most surprised. 

Tyrion sarcastically snorted. „Looks like we’re going to eat all we prepared for this week for like a month.” 

„Nah,” Pod leaned in and winked, „I remember that ginger wilding, he eats for ten.” 

„Still,” Tyrion remarked, „we were expecting thirty.”

He looked amused at Sansa, but then he saw Brienne’s expression. The Lady Knight was obviously rather disturbed by the sight of a redhead companion of the King beyond the Wall. 

Tormund, on the other hand, looked very much pleased when he spotted Ser Brienne.

Jon smiled, and then raised his eyebrows on the sight of Lord Lannister, whom he apparently did not expect to meet here. But before the Queen and Prince consort had a chance to officially greet their guests, Ghost stepped forward and moved straight towards Lord Lannister. He approached his face, sniffed and bared his teeth. Did not make any sound, of course, but all together it looked like a threat. 

Tyrion felt a bead of sweat running down his spine. Theoretically he knew Ghost - they travelled together to the Wall years ago (Ghost was just a pup then), and then the direwolf accompanied Jon during the Long Night. But Tyrion did not feel comfortable around the beast, so he just avoided contact. And back then Ghost did not seem interested in the dwarf either.

But now there was no escape. For some reason this huge wolf decided to focus his unwanted attention on the little lord. 

Tyrion tighten his jaw, clenched his fists. He desperately fought the instinct that told him to hide behind Sansa’s skirt (or better still - under it). He even did not grab her hand, trying to keep his dignity. 

Sansa saw his distress and was rather impressed by this restrain. She put her hand on her husband’s shoulder, soothingly. 

“Don’t worry, Ghost won’t hurt you.”

“How do you know?” Tyrion muttered. Suddenly the beast sniffed him again, and most unexpectedly… licked his face. Simply ran his tongue from Tyrion’s chin to forehead.

“Yyyyhh…” Tyrion was simultaneously relieved and disgusted. Sansa bit her cheek to suppress a giggle, but others were not so sensitive and just laughed.

“For all I know he could have just sampled the taste.” Tyrion mumbled grumpily. He hated being ridiculed like that. He turned to Sansa,  “And how can you be so sure that he does not see me as his next meal?” 

“No direwolf would ever hurt the Lord of Winerfell.” Sansa simply replied.

Suddenly a smile disappeared from Jon’s face. He jumped off his horse and approached the Queen. Meanwhile, Ghost silently withdrew.

“What did you just say?” Jon narrowed his eyes on the Queen.

Sansa looked him in the eyes. “Lord Tyrion is my husband and the Lord of Winterfell. He’s also my Lord Hand.”

“Aye, and what else? The King in the North?” Jon got visibly irritated.

“No.” Sansa replied, calmly, “Just my Prince consort.”

Now Jon looked at Tyrion, somehow angrily. “Last time we talked,” he said slowly, “I was imprisoned and you somehow became the Hand of king Bran. You pretended to feel responsible… but now I see you turned your cloak. You serve another monarch now?”

“If you try to offer me a job as _your_ Hand, then I must refuse,” Tyrion tried to make a jape, but Jon cut him off.

“Don’t play a smart-arse with me, dwarf.”

(Tyrion could not help himself and smirked, which actually infuriated Jon further.)

“Jon!” Sansa interrupted, clearly irritated by how her husband has been addressed. “Shall we take this conversation inside?”

Jon looked around, faced men and women gathered in the courtyard. They all stared at Jon rather coldly. He realised that for some reason they seemed comfortable with having this Lannister as their lord.

Jon was smart enough to see that Winterfell was not his home anymore. Those people were not his people. He grew up here, he took Winterfell from the Boltons, he was even acclaimed the King in the North. But then he bent the knee to the foreign Dragon Queen. And yes, they all fought the dead together, but for the Northerners other things mattered, and most definitively they were not keen on acknowledging perspective beyond their own land. As a result, the lords held against him the fact that he was willing to give up their fresh independence and to accept Targaryen rule. Meanwhile, the smallfolk was mostly distrustful towards his alliance with the Wildlings, remembering too many villages sacked and butchered by the Free Folk.

But in the end they all accepted Sansa, and good; Jon was surprised though that _a Lannister_ managed to win respect in the North.

(Only later Jon learned that the reason was mainly economic: after the wars the land was pretty much damaged, and all the people just craved for some prosperity. Smallfolk did not care at all what was the name of a man in charge, as long as he provided justice in court, supported trade, and did not introduce financial repression. The lords also could not afford rebelling against someone who made a very good deals for the North with the Six Kingdoms, and whose clever ideas already proved to be quite efficient remedies for a post-war damage.)

And so, they went inside. Jon was overall pissed off, so he mumbled, “May we unpack and rest a bit after the journey?”

“Sure,” Sansa’s voice was cold, “the servants will lead you to your chambers.”

(Tormund threw a longing look after Brienne before he left)

—

They all met again at dinner.

“How could the North have accepted a Lannister in Winterfell!?” Jon was just flabbergasted.

Tyrion pursed his lips, Sansa took a deep breath. But before she had a chance to say something, Tormund snorted audibly. “Free Folk accepted you, _Crow_ , and you ask why some fancy lords from the south took liking in another fancy lord from farther south?”

Jon looked at his friend, surprised. Then smirked, seeing his point.

“So now what, you are a dwarf of Winterfell, aye?” He turned to Tyrion a bit more kindly. Sansa got indignant again, but her husband only chuckled. “Yep, see what happened: you are not a bastard anymore, and I am still a dwarf. But shall I call you ‘your grace’ now? Are you the king of the Free Folk?”

“Sort of,” Jon shrugged.

“Jon first of his name, or rather Aegon?” Tyrion was curious. Then Tormund stepped into the conversation again, “We call him Jon, Crow, or Cutearse.”

Tyrion gritted his teeth, Sansa bit her cheek. They both managed to suppress a laugh.

Jon lost his willing to continue this conversation.

—

In the evening Jon managed to catch Tyrion alone, in the library. He was looking for this opportunity for some time, and so he got straight to the point. “You said your marriage was a sham.”

“It was.” Tyrion suppressed a smirk, “it really _was_.”

 _Past tense_ , Jon realised and blood rushed into his head. “Are you telling me you fucked my sister!?”

“Um, technically, she’s not your sister.” Tyrion tried to lighten the mood, but Jon just banged his fist on a table.

“Calm down, your grace, Sansa is a queen and a woman grown, I didn’t do anything she didn’t want me to.”

“But, she’s not… she can’t… you don’t understand!” Jon was simultaneously frustrated and terrified. Finally, he spat, “You don’t know what she’s been through.”

“I do.” Tyrion replied quietly, “She told me _everything_. Believe me, if I only could, I would raise that fucking Bolton bastard from the dead, ripped out his cock with my bare hands and make him eat it.”

Jon looked at Tyrion, surprised, but in a way relieved. He knew that Tyrion was a decent man: so if he were aware of what Sansa’s been through, he surely was gentle towards her.

But still, Jon was surprised. “And she still decided to resume your marriage? And to consummate it?”

“She did.” Tyrion nodded, and then added, softly, “Jon, it was not a political move, I’m not here for power or any position. I… love her. With all my heart. Believe it or not, it is a love match.”

Jon was not impressed. “Love her, huh? Well. It is not necessarily a good thing. You told me once that you loved Daenarys.”

Tyrion sighed. “True. I said that and I meant it, back then. But _this_ is different.”

“How come?” Jon looked at him, coldly. Tyrion shifted in his chair, uncomfortable.

“With Daenerys,” he decided to at least try to explain it, “it was some kind of fascination. She was passionate, dangerous and unpredictable, which was, in a way, I don’t know - addictive? I have always been attracted to extreme, tempted to push the boundaries, as if I wanted to check how much more I manage to survive. I thought she was amazing and frightening at the same time. Fire and blood.”

“And Sansa is not.” Jon supplied.

“Not like this.” Tyrion felt frustrated, because he wasn’t sure he was expressing himself clearly, “Sansa is _the most_ amazing and _frightening_ , too - well, I suppose every man should fear his wife a bit... Also, I know now that Sansa is _passionate_ underneath her prim appearance. And she has _fire_ inside her as well, but it is a different kind of fire. Not destructive, not burning everything to the ground. Rather… providing light and warmth. Security and peace I never thought I needed so much.”

Jon raised his eyebrows. “That sounds damn… poetic.” He murmured. “I bet you read that stuff in one of those books of yours. But I know that Sansa grew up to be an astonishing woman. I just don’t trust the idea of being in love, in general. I killed the woman I loved and you pushed me to it.”

“We were both disappointed by her,” Tyrion whispered, “we both thought that she was different, that she would never hurt innocents. And what we did - because I told you, Jon, it is something _we_ _both_ did - was not a revenge, nor a punishment. It was the only way to stop her from slaughtering another cities... We didn’t know her, not really. But, well, I dare say I _do_ know Sansa.”

“So do I.” Jon murmured, “I know what you mean, Lannister. Sansa may make mistakes, but she’s not mad.”

“For the first time in my life,” Tyrion’s voice was small now, “I may say that I truly _know_ the woman I love. And because of that I love her deeply, with all her flaws and unresolved issues. Also, every time I thought I loved before, it never came along with a genuine willing to sacrifice myself, if needed. When things got fucked up, I always managed to survive on the cost of the woman in question. But believe me or not, Jon Snow, for the first time in my life I don’t give a shit about myself. Whatever happens, I’ll gladly give my life to protect her.”

Jon looked at the dwarf thoughtfully. Finally, he sighed again. “All right then,” he shrugged, “but if you ever hurt her…”

“Then you would be welcomed to deal with any leftovers of me.” Tyrion supplied with a hint of smile, “Although I doubt there’s much to deal with after Ser Brienne is done with me.”

At that Jon finally chuckled.

—

Later that day Jon approached Sansa and said, “I will ask you only one question, and please be honest with me. Do you love him?”

“Yes.” Sansa smiled warmly.

Jon realised he never saw her smiling this way.

“Yes, I love Tyrion with all my heart.”

Jon nodded, and then sighed, mostly to himself. “Perhaps he cares about you after all. I thought he used you and Arya to manipulate me, but… perhaps he really cares.”

Sansa frowned her brow, “What are you talking about?”

Jon looked her in the eyes, thoughtfully. “He convinced me that I should not let Dany take the Iron Throne… and his final argument was that neither you nor Arya would bend the knee to her. And he said that this was why you told him my secret: because you did not want her to be queen.”

Sansa gasped. She didn’t know that, but now the knowledge warmed her heart. Of course back then Tyrion had other reasons to stand against Daenerys, his own life being threaten at that point, but she truly appreciated that he still spared a thought on her and Arya’s future.

“He always cared for me, Jon,” she supplied, softly, “more than I knew, really. But now we care for each other. We are lucky to have each other, really.”

Jon nodded again. Perhaps Sansa was indeed happy, after all.

—

A couple of subsequent days were quite busy for everyone: Jon, Sansa and Tyrion worked on various agreements between the Kingdom of the North and the Free Folk; Tormund was chasing Brienne, and she put quite lot of effort into avoiding him.

Seeing Sansa and Tyrion working as a team, Jon finally accepted that they were indeed good together. He also realised how ill-suited he would be for the role of the King in the North - he truly hated all those books, ledgers and laws. It was very different to be a leader of the wildlings, and the more time they all spent discussing borders, rules and deals, the more he missed the true North beyond the wall. But Sansa and Tyrion were made for dealing with all that damn boring and complicated issues. Gods bless them; he had enough of that.

Finally, he decided he was really done. One morning at breakfast he told Sansa and Tyrion that he would leave the next day.

Sansa at first only nodded, but then suddenly her eyes widened. She leaned towards Tyrion and whispered something into his ear. He looked at her, surprised, but then smiled. “Of course, if you wish. I’d be happy to.”

Jon narrowed his eyes at them. It was kind of rude to whisper like that at the breakfast table.

But Sansa decided to explain her idea to him. “Jon,” she said firmly, “recently Tyrion and I made up our minds to remarry - or perhaps I should say: renew our vows - in the Godswood, according to our Northern tradition.”

Jon raised his eyebrows, so she supplied, softly, “I want to have a Northern wedding I would enjoy. I want to erase the memory of the last one.”

Jon nodded, and so she resumed: “Jon, you are my only elder relative, and I consider you my brother.”

“Yes,” Jon’s voice was small, “I will always think of Ned Stark as my father, not uncle.”

“Therefore,” Sansa smiled, “would you please take his place for me, before you go? Would you wed us by the weirwood heart tree, in the eyes of the Old Gods? Tonight?”

Jon looked at them, surprised. “Tonight? You want a wedding - tonight?”

“Well, there’s not much to prepare,” Tyrion stepped into the conversation, “we want a quiet ceremony, we already had one pompous wedding years ago. And to be honest, the feast is ready; we’ve prepared supplies assuming that you would come with more men, and as Mrs Patmore told me yesterday, we have quite a lot of food that should be eaten in a mere few days.”

“I thought we may have a private dinner, and also I would like the servants of the keep to celebrate for us, because why not?” Sansa smiled. “What do you say, Jon?”

Jon’s gaze softened. “I’d be honoured, Sansa.”

—

_[a few days earlier, before Jon arrived]_

One evening, when they lazily lay together, Sansa suddenly said: “You know, you have never actually proposed to me."

“Pardon me?” Tyrion raised his head from her chest.

“Well, you didn’t.” She chuckled and took two cups of wine from their nightstand. She gave one of them to Tyrion, who popped himself up on his elbow. Wordlessly and almost automatically they clinked cups in a silent toast. 

“In fact, no-one ever proposed to me,” she continued, "I was only informed of my betrothal to Joffrey, made by our fathers. Then Margaery told me about Tyrell's idea to marry me to Loras, but he did not speak of that with me himself. Then you told me that your father commanded you to marry me, which was hardly romantic.”

"That's true!" Tyrion realised. There was no need to refer to Ramsay Bolton, they both knew that was not a pleasant subject. “But that is such a pity, it seems that no-one ever gave you a chance to express what you want.”

"Well,” Sansa smirked, "I did express what I want when I suggested that we could resume our marriage. But again - it is not as if you have _proposed_ , my lord. But alas, that was probably the stupid girls' dream: to get a proposal, to accept it voluntarily, and then to have a dream wedding."

She waved her hand dismissively and took a sip from her cup. But Tyrion was staring at her, thinking hard.

He suddenly realised something he did not think about before: she never got to choose, or rather: she has never been _asked_. He did propose himself - many years ago, to Tysha - and however terrible it all ended up, he still remembered that hint of pride which came with being accepted. And then the wedding: his first one was hardly a proper ceremony, and the second one, in the Great Sept of Baelor, was just a fancy but miserable affair. _And what about her?_ , Tyrion thought about Sansa. She had two weddings: one almost royal, in the capital, and the other in front of the Old Northern Gods, according to her father's tradition, so probably something she dreamed about as a girl. But both weddings turned out to be disasters - they must have spoiled the idea of marriage for her.

_Could he at least try to fix it?_

“My lady, my Queen. Sansa.” He said slowly, grabbing her hand. He placed a slow kiss on her knuckles. Then he raised up and kneeled on one knee. It was ridiculous: they were in bed, and both naked. He wasn't very stable kneeling like this on the mattress. It did not make sense, anyway, as normally kneeling should get him down in front of her (well, with his height he was always below), but now as he knelt and she was lying down, he was actually towering her. He still had a cup of wine in one hand, and he had no ring. In this arrangement he was mainly presenting her his cock (which was not even hard at this moment)…

Even though, he looked at her seriously, and asked with a low, deep voice: "Queen Sansa Stark, the love of my life, will you marry me?"

For a moment they just stared at each other in silence.

Sansa clearly got much more emotional than she was willing to show.

Finally, she replied with a strangled voice: "but, but… we are already married, my lord."

"By the faith of Seven, yes. But now, as the Lord of Winterfell, I ask you to marry me in the Northern tradition."

His voice went softer; "Sansa,“ he said tenderly, “I would be honoured if you accepted me and took me as your husband in the eyes of the Old Gods by the weirwood heart tree."

Sansa's eyes glittered with tears. "Yes, Tyrion,” she replied, "I will take you. Thank you so much for asking."

She sat up abruptly and threw her cup behind, spilling the rest of wine. Tyrion immediately threw his cup away as well (why did he propose with a cup in his hand in the first place? But it was oddly fitting, with the whole absurdness of a naked proposal in the middle of their bed) and just threw himself in her open arms. They shared a passionate kiss and soon she was lying back on the mattress and he was on top of her, fondling her breasts and sucking on her neck. She closed her arms and legs around him, mewing laudably and burying her nails in his curls. He realised that somehow whey both got instantly aroused: right now he _was_ rock hard, and she was so wet that even her tights got slick. When he pushed himself inside her, she came almost immediately, just after a few thrusts, and so did he.

A few moments later, Tyrion was lying on top of her, panting, face buried between her breasts, and she was lazily stroking his sweated back and damp curls.

“When do you want to get married?" he murmured against her chest.

"Soon,” she replied, "I want a small private ceremony. I suppose we could be witnessed by Brienne and Podrick."

Tyrion rose his head. “You know what, I just realised I don't even know how that ceremony looks like. Who is officiating?"

"Well," Sansa smiled, "we don't have any priests, and usually the ceremony is officiated by the groom's father, or the head of his house. Alternatively, it may be the Lord of Winterfell, the Warden of the North, or the king, or whoever is in charge in the North."

"Considering the fact that I am the head of House Lannister, as well as the Lord of Winterfell, and you are the Queen in the North,” Tyrion remarked with a grin, “it seems like we should somehow wed ourselves?"

"No, that's no good,” Sansa sighted, “because there is a dialogue to run, and we can't ask questions and answer them ourselves. Whoever officiates should start with ‘Who comes before the Old Gods this night?’, and whoever presents the bride answers by giving her name and status.”

“Who would present you?" Tyrion asked.

"I think I have to present myself,” Sansa mused, “as my father is dead, and technically I have only one true born brother left, but he is not coming all the way here from King's Landing. Even though I still consider Jon my half-brother rather than cousin, he is not here either. Then," she continued, "on the question ‘Who comes to claim her?’ you present yourself. We should probably skip the question who gives me, and go to the part where the officiator asks the bride if she takes the groom. And when she confirms, the newlyweds both kneel and pray to the Gods for blessing. Then goes the part with a cloak and basically that's it. Perhaps Maester Wolkan should officiate."

"Hmm,” Tyrion hummed thoughtfully, “sounds simple indeed. But somehow I don't see myself putting a Lannister cloak around the Queen in the North." She snorted and he winked, "How do you feel about skipping the cloak part this time? It was humiliating enough last time, I suppose, probably for both of us".

"I'm sorry I didn't kneel immediately back then.” Sansa suddenly said with a small voice, “I shouldn't have let them laugh at you."

"No harm done, my lady.” Tyrion ensured her warmly, "I'm sorry you had to bend the knee for a Lannister.. Let's not do that again, what do you say?"

"All right,” Sansa was rather relieved, “but I am happy to say we will both kneel this time, to pray to the Old Gods. Perhaps instead of exchanging the cloaks we could exchange a kiss at the end?"

"I would love that." Tyrion smiled. Before their first wedding he personally asked the High Septon to skip the kiss part, knowing too well how repulsed his bride would be if she had to kiss him.

Now he couldn't wait to get that wedding kiss.

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, another classic Sanrion trope coming! \o/ (will you endure all that fluff?)
> 
> Now, in terms of reference to the weddings in this chapter: I realised that the descriptions of ceremonies differ from what was shown in the show.  
> When Sansa married Tyrion, they did that according to the Seven, but there were no vows spoken ("Father, Mather, Maiden…" etc.), and also, there was no kiss (“with this kiss I pledge my love” - it was at the wedding of Joffrey and Margaery). Basically there was only the cloak disaster. I understand, though, that we may assume the scene was a cut; I suppose that they must have said the vows, at least. Nevertheless I would think they may have skipped the kiss (neither of them wanted that, and again, Tyrion would not be able to kiss her if she didn’t bend; I assume that he may have asked the Septon to skip that part).  
> But in case of Sansa’s wedding with Ramsay we saw the Northern ceremony - in the show there was no cloak part, even though I read it should have been there. So I assume this element is not absolutely necessary.
> 
> Also, as a person who hates big parties (honestly, I can’t focus on talking to more than 3 people at once, and preferably I talk to one, so I get anxious when I’m surrounded by more) I can’t write multi-character meetings, truly. I know it is totally out of setting, they had huge households and probably various visitors all the time, and Sansa technically should have a court, but well, I just can’t. Sorry.

**Author's Note:**

> The file containing my notes for this fic and parts of chapters to come has been created in December 2019. After a year of scribbling I decided to post chapter 1. I am a person who likes to have everything under control, so now I am truly freaking out about posting a fic that I have not yet entirely written. This means I do not have many chapters ready to be published and therefore they may end up being published not very regularly (let's just hope it would be more often than once a year). Also, I have never ever written fan-fic before. The fact that I gained courage at all to do THIS is mostly thanks to @Foxyhunter99, @attonitos_gloria and @thistleandthorn (<3) - but please don't blame them, they are excellent writers and they did not know what they encouraged me to publish! ;)
> 
> Stay safe, everyone. The Winter is here. We all need to survive it.


End file.
